Scattered scenes, scattered dreams (from Paris)

Montmartre

"Art gives life"

Centre Pompidou

Breakfast

This ol' thang.

Tuileries

Morning at the marché

I do not intend in this post, to update on anything in particular, just a composite of maybe one or two photos out of every hundred that I've snapped. Things have been looking up, and there have been many firsts in the past few days.

1.) Purchased and picked up a concert ticket (Andrew Bird, thank you for asking) at the FNAC yesterday without being caught. You will hear me use this term "caught" quite often. By it, I mean only when I open my mouth and they assume that I'm not a native.
2.) Woke up to go to the marché en plein air today. It was unlike anything I've ever experienced, and I loved it. It was basically a very very very French farmer's market. But awesome-er. Also did not get caught. Actually, I bought dinner, which came out to be a pan-seared mackerel with freshly slivered potato chips and sautéed haricots verts.
3.) Journaled alone at a café after ordering a café crème.
4.) Attended a matinée of an amazing absurdist show by Heinric Goebbels at the Théâtre de la Ville. Did get caught for this one, but only because I was exhausted.
5.) Tried Moules à la Marinière. Authentic. It was delicious.
6.) Felt a bit homesick.

I officially begin classes tomorrow, and I'm a little petrified -- still trying to realize that I have been living in Paris for a week (it feels like a month) and it will be hectic from now until a while. I have not taken six classes since high school, and the thought of it seems very daunting, especially with 90% of it in French. I hope that I might certainly improve though, and perhaps meet some interesting people along the way.

Paris is inviting, indeed, but it can also be very lonely. Like any city, it's entirely inevitable in the crowds of people and the sea of faces to feel forgotten. Yeah, the ISA kids in my program have been eager to befriend everyone and anyone, but I can't help but wonder if they're nice because they like me, or because they want to save their own skin and push away any lingering sentiments of feeling alone. I don't think I'm necessarily sick for home, because I love it here, but I think I'm sick for comfort. Comfortsickness? There's comfort in the fact that in the states, if I ever had to explain myself or compose myself, I'd be able to do it. Not so, here. If I ever wanted to venture out and do my own thing, I know that I wouldn't be imposing on any cultural norm, not so here. If I ever wanted to call up a friend and force them to do things with me, I could. Not so.

Here.

But all this will pass, I'm sure, as I get my act together. Until then, you get to listen to me whine.