In ten days, I will be off to Paris. Even though my trip is rapidly approaching, it still feels so surreal. I still look at pictures of that magnificent city and long to be there, and then I remind myself that I'll be living that dream soon. I'll be walking on the cobblestone paths, looking up at my dream apartments, eating at bakeries, drinking tea at cafes, struggling to interact with the locals in my broken French, not being able to sleep due to excitement and anticipation, documenting my trip with film. and visiting art museums. I imagine myself never wanting to go back to the apartment my family is renting because there was still so much to see. I imagine myself never even wanting to come home. The town I live in seems utterly insignificant to Paris.
My entire life in America feels that way too. I've never belonged to a place; I've lived in so many areas and I've barely had a connection to any of them. I've always been told I looked like I belonged in Paris, that my style was Parisian. I always embraced this and I still do. I can't say for sure, but I feel like I'll discover something incomprehensible in that city.