Pas Adieu, Mais À Bientot

I just ate at my favorite café in the 7th arrondissement for the last time. I just glimpsed the Eiffel Tower at sunset for the last time. I'm eating my last macaron, drinking my last bottle of wine, breathing in my last Parisian night. Why do all these "lasts" have to come so quickly? Where did the time go when I was having all of my "firsts"? When I had no idea where the 7th arrondissement was. When I didn't know a macaron from a chocolate chip cookie. When I couldn't tell a Bordeaux from a box of Franzia. It's 10:26pm Paris time, and my flight back to the U.S. leaves in 13 hours. Last week's sheer excitement of returning home has peeled away to reveal un comportement triste. A sad demeanor. One that's difficult to explain. Maybe it's the tugging of the roots I've begun to build here. Maybe it's the memories that wash over me as I pass that familiar boulangerie along Rue St. Honoré or that spot on the Champs de Mars where I had my first sip of French wine. Or those bars in the Latin Quarter 
and St. Germain where my friends and I acted like idiots by night and laughed hysterically about our antics the next morning. Even sitting in this apartment, a place that felt like another world back in January, I can't help but recall all these memorable moments, and feel like I'm about to leave a small piece of myself behind. The red wine stain on the carpet, hidden by a strategic placement of the couch. The refrigerator where an unnamed Chi O sat eating pastries in the middle of the night. A corner of the floor where an unnamed 
Big Brother of mine passed out from some aggressive pre-gaming. The small sofa, barely able to fit 2 people, where Devyn and I sat every day, laughing about our latest adventure, lamenting over some bit of culture shock, or talking through some issue that had popped up in our lives. Never would I have thought I'd call a place other than Lansdale, PA or Washington, DC.... home. But Paris, despite some of its annoying idiosyncrasies, managed to achieve such a distinction. I've done more growing here than I could have ever imagined. Experienced so many new things, it's lucky my head didn't explode. I honestly cannot wait for the next time I'll be in this incredible city, to visit old haunts, laugh on the same street corners, stumble on the same cobblestones, sit on that same spot along the Seine, eat at that same café....and further discover all of the things Paris has yet to show me. 


I wouldn't have had the chance to leave my footprint on Paris if it weren't for a few choice people. 

First, to my parents, the people who asked why I would want to cross an ocean to take the same classes I could take at GW. I'm sure by now, you've gotten your answer. Thank you for supporting and tolerating me. With every little complaint, every request for money, and every idiotic loss of a valuable possession (no more prescription Ray-Bans for me). You stuck with me through these last six months by being my rocks back home. I promise you that one day, I'll bring you guys to the incredible places I've seen. Because if there are any people as deserving of seeing this beautiful world, it's you guys. 

Next to my brothers for keeping me sane (most importantly and keeping me updated on the goings-on of the Washington sports world. Time differences do not work out too well when you're trying to watch a Caps playoff game 6 hours ahead, or following the Skins drafting a sick QB when you're somewhere in Africa. Despite all the great people that I've met over here, the two I want to see most are you guys. Save me a seat in the basement for the next Nats game or Call of Duty session.

To my two grandmothers, whose generous Christmas gifts gave me an incredible spring break and paid for all the baguettes, escargot, and Camembert a guy could ask for. You will never know how much you guys mean to me.

Finally to all my friends with whom I shared this experience. Whether I crashed on my couch (or vice-versa) or I met you in Paris, you all made my time abroad absolutely unforgettable. I don't know how I became so lucky to grow so close to such a great group of people. Santé mes amis.

Now hate to cut this short, but there are still 2 bottles of wine that need finishing and some macarons that my brilliantly forgetful roommate left behind. Sorry, Dev, can't fit them in my bags, so why should they go to waste? If there's one thing that I learned over these last six months, it's that nothing should go to waste. Not a single second of daylight. Not a single opportunity you can seize. Not a single experience you can enjoy.  And not a single macaron. Nothing in life is meant to waste. Jump at it. Live it. And love it. 

À bientot Paris. Je ne vous oublierai jamais.