A rendezvous with a dream, change of place, people, city and everything in between…
Louis XIV, amongst the other things, was famous for his emphasis on fashion, art and culture. Even though the revolution marked the end of his monarchy, his attempts to embody France were far too surreal. The beginning of the 19th century, when the rest of the Europe was experiencing their own outbreaks, France and especially Paris had graduated its concerns to something much less definite and much more definitive. For a lover of art, culture and fashion, like me, Paris is thus, the dream.
Some people move to a different place for a life, some for a lifestyle and the others for the opportunity; for me, even though Paris was all of those things, it was this profound happiness of being a part of the legacy. And I would be lying if I’ll say that I have always and just loved it here, I haven’t. I had just fully recovered from my prolonged jet-lag when I was to celebrate my twenty-second birthday. To put it modestly, it was nothing less than romantic. I dressed-up in the most beautiful Parisian summer outfit, added an artistic flair to my body language and went around in the city I had been dreaming of.
Out of the comforts of my home, for the first time, I was precisely 8 time-zones away from my homeland, living the dream. The saddest aspect of a dream is that it wears off, just as soon as you attain it. And, even though, I was loving living mine, I was not truly as blown-over as I had expected. The streets were not bursting with artists, beautiful dancers didn’t light up the avenues, nor was there music in the air.
The sky did have a shade of pink, there were some artists, too, and a faint tune somewhere, but was that enough to suffice my desires of Paris?
It occurred to me, Paris is the only city-name which can literally be used as an adjective for a person. Maybe, that’s why the Parisians, walk with their nose so high, I had thought, or is it because of these unkempt streets?
I was torn, I was confused. Maybe it’s the Paris Syndrome, I thought; but sadly, this was not my first time in the city. It was just the first time I was expected to have a long-term relationship with it and not just a passing affair. Probably it was the cold feet.
Oh, and I hate having to learn a new language; having to adapt to newer ways of functioning in this very French way.
How do I say, this rendezvous hasn’t been as pleasant; but what’s even love without a little hate?
Paris, for me, and France for that matter, is not just a place anymore, or an adjective, it is the change I feared without a conscience. It is what I didn’t fathom or weigh but I took upon.
And, I’m no longer afraid of change.
The change doesn’t wear off, nor would Paris.
The skies are beautiful again, a varied shade of blue and rose. The evenings as romantic as the music in the air and the artists are painting the goals and dreams in my heart every moment.
In January 2016, when I decided to go through with my admission in the school that I sit in today(Essec B-School), I too sat in shallow waters like such. To start with, I was late and honestly, I wasn’t even that prepared. In fact, I was kind of hoping it would be … oh, well, that’s a story for another day. For today, it is the compelling need to take the decision and not the journey.
Many times in life you are compelled to take decisions that make or break your being. And yet, it is whether you go through with them or not defines your character more than the decision itself. My French age of coming has proven itself to be that avenue for me. And well, it has just begun for all I care.
‘Qui Vivra Verra’
The article originally was intended was my school newspaper.