On y va

Saturday I will be jetting off with my mother to Europe. It was all very sudden and very unlike me in planning (or allowing my mother to plan) our trip. As with many of those recently graduated I had a bit of a quarter life crisis which mostly consisted of me not understanding why I had to become an 'adult' --I'm a firm believer that no one is ever really an adult, that we all just pretend to be one until we have so convinced others that we are--and do things like save my money and think of a real career. Somehow this all culminated in a giant present to myself in the form of a short trip. It started with Greece, then Morocco, then maybe Italy but somehow we, mother and I, settled on London, Paris, Amsterdam. A mere three days in each and then right back home again.

While never really having been to London, except a far too long lay over last summer which resulted in the grouchiest of grouches, me, or Amsterdam, I'm still most excited to be back in Paris. I like to pretend that I lived there. It isn't entirely pretending but saying 'I studied abroad' versus' I lived in Paris', 'I lived in Paris' wins. To explain why I loved it so much is impossible as I don't really know why I did. It was partly the newness of it all, of slowly becoming more confident that I could understand and be understood in this different world, of feeling lonely in the best way possible. Something fit so nicely while I was there and its something I've been itching to get back. So, yes, my unexciting self is most looking forward to that place which I've already been, already spent a significant amount of time in, and already fell in love with.

I'm hoping to return full of pastries and with loads of pictures and tiny presents for all. For now, I have year old pictures that make me ache with thoughts of last summer.





My view while I was 'living' there.