Sentiment

I didn’t think it would happen.

It had been months, and I had survived without it. I was blasé about it, just a wave of the hand in dismissal. Just OK, nothing special. I don’t feel anything that extraordinary. At first melancholy, a bit of contempt during those nastier, more biting moments. Gradually mutual respect and a pinch of admiration. We get each other. Great. Nod and go on. But it wasn’t anything more. I was relieved it wasn’t.

Then it happened, that sickening, saccharine feeling of too much that’s just too real. It slowly creeps over until it encompasses everything. I don’t notice at first because I mistake it for like. We’re in the respect phase, that’s all. That’s what I tell myself. Good for it, then, because it overtakes me. 

And I realize it once it’s too late. I’m one of those people, one of those poor, unfortunate victims. I feel so much now; I can’t just look away. I get what all those others say. Parting is such sweet sorrow. I’m in love, and it’s the end.

Read More

5 days ago  /  0 notes

Retrospective

Usually I try to write more abstract posts anyone can relate to on this blog. Today, a break from the normal: a retrospective of my experience abroad in Paris. This post is more catered to the people who know me or anyone who has or wants to study abroad. Regular musings to return next time!

Just two days ago, I was walking to the Concorde metro stop on Rue Royale. The sun was still out, but it was 7:30 p.m., beginning to set. People don’t typically smile here, but I had one plastered on my face.

Or at least I was trying. There’s happiness in being done, in freedom, right? To have the slate clear, to have nothing waiting. Striking, really, having no responsibilities, no box on the to-do list to be checked off.

But the smile just seemed forced. I tried, but I just couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t wrap my head around the fact it was all done.

The day before, my editor and I were walking toward the Châtelet metro stop. The sun shone; people gathered around Les Halles. It looked like spring; it didn’t feel like it. “The bad weather is one of Paris’ best kept secrets,” I was told. A shame, too. It looks so beautiful here. I wish the temperature would follow that example.

My editor and I had just taken a taxi from the office so she could scout out a make-up boutique she was writing a piece on. It was a fun excursion, and she asked me about school here, about my school in States as we were walking back. “So you’re completely done? It must feel nice!” She was so kind. I had mentioned earlier I finished my last final that morning.

“Definitely!” I cheer, smiling. “But I don’t know — it just doesn’t seem real. It hasn’t really hit me yet!” I laugh. It’s always like that.

For me, there’s always a struggle when the schoolwork is completely finished, the last exam is taken, the last day of that internship are gone, gone, gone. I am someone who thrives on being impossibly busy. I’m too occupied to focus on the end. Literally running, gasping until that final step across the finish. And then I look back at the trail, always with a bit of euphoria at the feat and sentimentality at the end swirled together.

Read More

3 weeks ago  /  0 notes