Nights in Paris

          There's nothing quite like waking up in Paris. It always takes a few seconds before the idea settles in, “Merde! I'm in Paris.” 
          So I snuggle my sheets, relish the moments in our cute, little airbnb in Le Marais, before I get up and continue playing pretend 
          as a well-composed French woman.

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I was sitting in a cafe with no real, concrete plan for the day, too full to finish the petit dejeuner I ordered; not quite ready to take on the city on my own just yet. So I sat, watched the people pass by and eavesdropped into people's conversations, trying to catch the little French I know. 

I had been in Paris for three days already and it was my first time alone in the city of two million. The first couple of minutes were daunting, just me and my thoughts, and memories of people telling me to be very careful, to grab onto my bag always, and to not to go out at night. My mom didn't really want to leave me by myself and only agreed to it two days before she left for Denmark.

So, I was left alone in a cafe by Avenue Carnot, obviously had to foot the bill for brunch. But everything else and anxieties aside, I really had no choice but to step out of comfort and just enjoy every minute of it.

There really was no getting used to Paris. Everywhere I went, I was still mesmerised by everything - the mansard roofs, the river, the cobbled streets, the John Hamon posters everywhere, and even those Midnight-in-Paris-lampposts. Wherever I went, I’d think, “that’s so French,” and I loved it all.

There's this allure that the city exuded that made me feel like I fit in, that even if I didn't understand most of what people were saying, I got it. So the city stole my heart and it could've done whatever it wanted with it.. Probably should've given it to a cute French boy. (smh)