I am writing to you from the past. At the moment that you are reading this newsletter, I am probably eating breakfast at a busy café, browsing through a vintage bookstore, boarding a flight back to Hamburg or sitting in a work meeting.
But as I am writing this, I am jittery with nervous excitement. I am going back to Paris after a full one year and nine months. And I am not sure what to expect from this trip.
I lived in Paris in the Fall of 2021. I was a student with very little money in my bank account, living in the spare bedroom of my sweet sexagenarian French roommate, Catherine.
I expected so much out of Paris at that time. I expected this city to relieve me of my writer’s block, supply me with endless inspiration and show me that my true calling in life was to be an author.
All I got out of those ten and a half weeks was an insufferable crush on a city.
I hadn’t felt this way since I met Alex, that kind of strange, anxious excitement that comes with falling in love. And I was feeling all of that for Paris. I often wondered why, because this city was not kind to a broke, fat, brown student the way it is to white social media marketers in their garish dresses and terrible French (yes, Emily, I am looking at you).
I wandered through Paris in my maroon Parka even on the somewhat hot days because I couldn’t afford a lighter jacket. I got told off by a security guard at Monoprix for not speaking French (it was my third day). I stood in line for a club in my twenty-euro jeans and my two-year-old H&M sweater tucked in, no makeup and frayed Puma shoes.
The bouncer took one look at my outfit and told me I was not allowed in. I ugly cried the entire way back home. It was an hour-long ride on a Friday night on Metro line 5. And to me, everyone else in that crowded metro looked like they had walked off the runway.
Paris broke my heart so many times, and yet, I kept falling over and over in love with it.
Alright, I see a pattern. That’s how I had always fallen in love. For the toxic ones. For the ones that seemed to tolerate my existence and never love me back. Until Alex (but you know that story).
On my last day in the city, I walked to the bridge between Notre Dame and Shakespeare and Company. I stood there, looking at the Seine, something playing in my ears and I promised myself that I would be back. And I would be back in a way that this city will love me.
Now that I explained my nerves, I think I feel the same way as someone who is about to meet an old crush. An old crush who wasn’t necessarily good to them. I am aware that Paris might not love me back the way I had loved this city for so long.
Oh well, at least, this time, I can throw money at the problem.
Until next time eating croissants and yelling putain,
PS: Off-topic, but did you see the campaign video I worked on with my team? Watch it here and tell me how proud you are of me. Thnx. 💞
I absolutely loved the setup, I thought this was gonna be about a guy. But honestly, it turned out to be so much more. Also, throwing money at the problem lol
Please write more often, I'm always looking forward to your posts in my inbox :)