This entry is titled in memoriam for two reasons. One, I'm about to pack up and leave France, and these past six months will slip quickly from the realm of active experience to passive memories of the good times and an intense longing to return back. Two, however, and perhaps more importantly, it is a brief and mostly unsatisfactory tribute to a 21-year-old young woman from Orange, taken from this earth a bit early but angelic in all that she was. Linda, may you rest with the angels tonight and feel a peace that none of us on this earth can ever comprehend.
How to really summarize the emotions and thoughts that are running through my head right now? On the one hand my brain is trying to prepare itself, ever so feably, for the coming shock that will be the return home. They say, and I'm sure they're right, that many times the cultural shock is much worse when you go back, when you return feeling completely different but unable to express and to explain what exactly that difference means. I've been trying to wrap my head around the person I am now, to try to compare him at least in degrees to the person I was before I left. But the truth is, the warp has been a complete 180 degree turn. I mean, on the surface I am still the same man with most of the same beliefs and values, but on the inside the thoughts I have now are completely different, my excitement and interest in the world is infinitely higher, and I just can't even begin to determine how far I've come. I've grown, and for the first time I saw it happen right before my eyes, in a brief span of only 6 months. I mean, you know, how often does something like that happen? I fear intensely that life will be normal again when I get back, that my excitement will die and that my interest will wither and that in the end all I will be left with is a longing to return.
But of course, I will do everything in my power to stop that from happening.
In other news, I can't quite understand how to get a grasp of what happens when a young person dies. It seems so unnatural, so illogical, so unfair. But then, it seems like there's no reason to fret over it, nothing to do that could make anything better. And, I don't want to write a blabber about this situation, don't want to act like I have the right to really summarize what has happened, don't want to be the one to talk when so many others are in so much more pain than I am. So, in the end, I am not qualified. All I can say is that the world will never be the same. Never is, is it?
Yes, but right now those are basically the thoughts running through my head. I hope that Paris will remember me, I hope that I will always remember Paris. And of course, I will never forget Linda, and hope what I've done on this earth can only be at least a little bit as amazing as what she has done herself. Here's to life, and to all it brings us, and to all it is!
Saturday, March 17, 2007
Sunday, March 11, 2007
Life moves too quickly when it moves in slow motion
The more and more I reflect on Paris (mostly in the form of my self-reflexive rapport du stage...ew), the more I realize how much this place has changed me. In physical form, I'm pretty much the same in appearance and such as I was when I left, sure, but my outlook on life, my way of seeing events in the US (especially of the political variety), and my perceptions of myself have been completely revolutionized, basically. I'm sort of afraid that I won't be recognizable when I get back, at least in the way I act and the person I am. But then again, do people really change? Put me back in the same environment, I'll probably be mostly the same. Hehe.
In any case, more on what I will miss about Paris. This weeks abstract concept will be, I suppose, um, well what's the best way to put this...the vitality, nay, the accessibility that is city life. I mean, I can get city life most anywhere in the world, but Paris is unique, you know. It's a city where everybody is walking the streets, even if it's pourring rain outside, and where you can always find a boulangerie that's open even on Sunday (unlike most everything else). On that note, it's a city where things close randomly (the owner didn't feel like coming in? ok, no big...), where strikes block off city streets and prevent you from following the path you had planned on (especially if you're driving), and where metro stations and lines close at least once a day do to a malfunction or a protest or (worst of all) a suicide or attempted suicide--and where you just go with the flow. Even in California, famed state of "going-with-the-flow" laid-back beaches and sunny days, life is not this laid-back. Even at Stanford, campus of discussion sections having trouble finding space on the grass because every other discussion section is there, or of slip-and-slides on the front lawn on a breezy April afternoon, the stress can feel daunting and the rush between places can become more overwhelming. In Paris, if you show up an hour late to work, nobody faults you for it, and if you miss the bus and have to wait 20 minutes for the next one--hey, just another opportunity to enjoy the scenery and the company of 10 other people who missed the bus when you did.
I mean, this attitude is certainly not unique to Paris. In fact, Paris is sort of behind when you compare the laid-back to feel to, say, a Barcelona or an Athens or much of Italy. But the unique way it manifests itself in Paris--which is to say, mostly in the form of "manifs" (i.e., manifestations = protests)--is perfect, and I'm afraid somewhat that with the influx of a global economy and its accompanying work demands that will change. Once the 35 hour work week is abolished (which is admittedly probably a good thing) and once the 6 weeks of vacation are shortened to four, I fear for the joie de vivre parisienne, but alas, we'll see what happens. In any case, I'll be able to say, ten years from now, I once knew a Paris where the metro broke down and you just took it for granted, where friends would always show up 15 minutes (minimum) after the agreed on meeting time and it was expected, and where things still closed down on Sundays and (sometimes) Mondays. Alas, nostalgia is very agreable bedfellow.
So yeah, with one week to go, only one more entry before I leave, I'm starting to feel sad. I had a day dream today of my plane taking off from CDG, the feeling I'll have as the landing gear close in and the countryside around Paris fades away. The feeling of getting in the taxi to the airport, of leaving peripherique on my way out, of driving along Blvd St-Michel for a last time, saying goodbye to all the places where I used to drink beer and find cheap dinners, to all the memories of meeting "at the fountain"! It's almost unbearable, so I'm going to try to live in denial and stop thinking about it for now. In the mean time, I'll be having the best last-week-in-Paris of my life, so don't be surprised if I'm constantly in and out of contact!!!
In any case, more on what I will miss about Paris. This weeks abstract concept will be, I suppose, um, well what's the best way to put this...the vitality, nay, the accessibility that is city life. I mean, I can get city life most anywhere in the world, but Paris is unique, you know. It's a city where everybody is walking the streets, even if it's pourring rain outside, and where you can always find a boulangerie that's open even on Sunday (unlike most everything else). On that note, it's a city where things close randomly (the owner didn't feel like coming in? ok, no big...), where strikes block off city streets and prevent you from following the path you had planned on (especially if you're driving), and where metro stations and lines close at least once a day do to a malfunction or a protest or (worst of all) a suicide or attempted suicide--and where you just go with the flow. Even in California, famed state of "going-with-the-flow" laid-back beaches and sunny days, life is not this laid-back. Even at Stanford, campus of discussion sections having trouble finding space on the grass because every other discussion section is there, or of slip-and-slides on the front lawn on a breezy April afternoon, the stress can feel daunting and the rush between places can become more overwhelming. In Paris, if you show up an hour late to work, nobody faults you for it, and if you miss the bus and have to wait 20 minutes for the next one--hey, just another opportunity to enjoy the scenery and the company of 10 other people who missed the bus when you did.
I mean, this attitude is certainly not unique to Paris. In fact, Paris is sort of behind when you compare the laid-back to feel to, say, a Barcelona or an Athens or much of Italy. But the unique way it manifests itself in Paris--which is to say, mostly in the form of "manifs" (i.e., manifestations = protests)--is perfect, and I'm afraid somewhat that with the influx of a global economy and its accompanying work demands that will change. Once the 35 hour work week is abolished (which is admittedly probably a good thing) and once the 6 weeks of vacation are shortened to four, I fear for the joie de vivre parisienne, but alas, we'll see what happens. In any case, I'll be able to say, ten years from now, I once knew a Paris where the metro broke down and you just took it for granted, where friends would always show up 15 minutes (minimum) after the agreed on meeting time and it was expected, and where things still closed down on Sundays and (sometimes) Mondays. Alas, nostalgia is very agreable bedfellow.
So yeah, with one week to go, only one more entry before I leave, I'm starting to feel sad. I had a day dream today of my plane taking off from CDG, the feeling I'll have as the landing gear close in and the countryside around Paris fades away. The feeling of getting in the taxi to the airport, of leaving peripherique on my way out, of driving along Blvd St-Michel for a last time, saying goodbye to all the places where I used to drink beer and find cheap dinners, to all the memories of meeting "at the fountain"! It's almost unbearable, so I'm going to try to live in denial and stop thinking about it for now. In the mean time, I'll be having the best last-week-in-Paris of my life, so don't be surprised if I'm constantly in and out of contact!!!
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
Better seen than believed
Ok, so, I set out to come up with things that I am going to miss about France, and at this point in time I'm still having a bit of difficulty thinking about things. I don't think it is so much that there is nothing to miss, but mainly that I'm just not in the position right now to realize what I'll miss. Basically, what it comes down to is that the things I most take for granted are the things that I will miss the most, and I can't quite get my finger on what those things are, because, well, I don't think about them (that is what taking something for granted means, no?).
So anyway, some potential candidates: the metro, in all it's close-at-12:45 glory, because, well, how else would I get anywhere; the architecture, which I'm sure will become idealized in my head the moment I set foot in Orange County; the little discoveries, like discovering this morning that the bus I take to work passes the house where Manet was born, not to mention the Louvre, the Comedie Francaise, St-Germain, and the Academie Francaise; the activity, like always being able to find a bar to go to or a restaurant to eat at wherever you are. I mean, it's so hard to just quantify how much of Paris has gotten ingrained into me, has seeped its way under my pores, whether in the form of harmful bacteria or in slightly less corporeal manifestations. For example, the fact that my hand automatically types an "e" after the suffixes "and" and "end," especially words that have French counterparts, like demand(e). In any case, I may not have intended it to happen, and I may have resisted quite strongly at first, but France has gotten inside of me, and I'm pretty sure that I won't be the same again. That's a good thing.
Which brings me to the last point. I can't say that I'm actually going to miss France, because in all honesty missing to me usually implies that there is something that you feel was incomplete about the experience. When you miss a friend, it's because you wish you could talk to them about everything and nothing going on in your life. When you miss a restaurant (or your grandma's cooking), it's because your taste buds can't quite bring themselves to somehow align with your memory and bring back the particular flavors and experience that made that meal great. With France, I can't say that I have that feeling. Sure, there are buildings I haven't seen, museums I haven't been to, a theme park I might feel sad to have not seen, foods I have not tried. But in the grand scheme, France is everything I wanted it to be, which is to say nothing like I expected it to be. In the end, for me experiencing Paris has become less about checking off that always expanding list of cafes to pass an afternoon at, museum exhibits to ponder, and second-hand bookstores to revel in (though it is a noble cause), and more about the changes I have gone through, the maturity I have gained, and the indescribable sense of pride I know I'll feel to have conquered being abroad for so long.
So yeah, my body and my brain are going to miss Paris. They're going to go through their little withdrawals when my hand finds itself shocked to learn that B813A is not the code to every apartment building, when my legs start to veg out from not having to walk around cobblestone streets, and when my reflexes start to slow when it comes to navigating my way through a crowded street. But I won't miss Paris. No, better than that, I will be forever indebted to this city, to its residents (from the hot guy on the bus this morning to my host mom), and to its incredibly powerful ability as muse and as inspiration. I wondered before I got here why Paris was such a powerhouse when it came to turning out artists, philosophers, writers, and all those other creative types; now I know, it's all you can do in a city so inspiring. You'll forgive me, I hope, if after Paris I come home a chain-smoking, caffeine-infused cafe dweller with a penchant for waxing poetic from four in the afternoon until dinner time (around 9).
So anyway, some potential candidates: the metro, in all it's close-at-12:45 glory, because, well, how else would I get anywhere; the architecture, which I'm sure will become idealized in my head the moment I set foot in Orange County; the little discoveries, like discovering this morning that the bus I take to work passes the house where Manet was born, not to mention the Louvre, the Comedie Francaise, St-Germain, and the Academie Francaise; the activity, like always being able to find a bar to go to or a restaurant to eat at wherever you are. I mean, it's so hard to just quantify how much of Paris has gotten ingrained into me, has seeped its way under my pores, whether in the form of harmful bacteria or in slightly less corporeal manifestations. For example, the fact that my hand automatically types an "e" after the suffixes "and" and "end," especially words that have French counterparts, like demand(e). In any case, I may not have intended it to happen, and I may have resisted quite strongly at first, but France has gotten inside of me, and I'm pretty sure that I won't be the same again. That's a good thing.
Which brings me to the last point. I can't say that I'm actually going to miss France, because in all honesty missing to me usually implies that there is something that you feel was incomplete about the experience. When you miss a friend, it's because you wish you could talk to them about everything and nothing going on in your life. When you miss a restaurant (or your grandma's cooking), it's because your taste buds can't quite bring themselves to somehow align with your memory and bring back the particular flavors and experience that made that meal great. With France, I can't say that I have that feeling. Sure, there are buildings I haven't seen, museums I haven't been to, a theme park I might feel sad to have not seen, foods I have not tried. But in the grand scheme, France is everything I wanted it to be, which is to say nothing like I expected it to be. In the end, for me experiencing Paris has become less about checking off that always expanding list of cafes to pass an afternoon at, museum exhibits to ponder, and second-hand bookstores to revel in (though it is a noble cause), and more about the changes I have gone through, the maturity I have gained, and the indescribable sense of pride I know I'll feel to have conquered being abroad for so long.
So yeah, my body and my brain are going to miss Paris. They're going to go through their little withdrawals when my hand finds itself shocked to learn that B813A is not the code to every apartment building, when my legs start to veg out from not having to walk around cobblestone streets, and when my reflexes start to slow when it comes to navigating my way through a crowded street. But I won't miss Paris. No, better than that, I will be forever indebted to this city, to its residents (from the hot guy on the bus this morning to my host mom), and to its incredibly powerful ability as muse and as inspiration. I wondered before I got here why Paris was such a powerhouse when it came to turning out artists, philosophers, writers, and all those other creative types; now I know, it's all you can do in a city so inspiring. You'll forgive me, I hope, if after Paris I come home a chain-smoking, caffeine-infused cafe dweller with a penchant for waxing poetic from four in the afternoon until dinner time (around 9).
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