A second for second thoughts.

I'm sitting at the metro station. The train is late... or I missed it... it doesn't matter, I have nowhere to go. And as I have nothing else to do but wait for the next train I thought I'd write you another letter.

I've been here nearly a month now and I'm still amazed that I'm here. And I'm still amazed how everything here is different. I don't know how to explain it. It's a modern society but it's built on the two thousand years before it. I went to a building that was built originally in the 700's and then I rode across town and saw some skyscraper office buildings. It's like nothing I've experienced before. But mostly... it's cold. The air is cold, the people are cold, and my apartment is cold. I feel like all I ever talk about is how cold it is but this past week has been the coldest of the winter. And the silence is starting to get old. I haven't talked with anyone since I've been here. I mean really talked to them like had a conversation. Martin and I still aren't speaking. I'm pretty sure he hates me but even if he doesn't we can't talk. If I stay here I am definitely going to have to look into language schools. If I stay... which I'm beginning to reconsider.

I haven't been sleeping great lately, can't seem to put my mind to sleep, it's swimming with French phrases, and the incredible things I've seen, but mostly the unanswerable question. Why Paris? Why did I come here of all places. Why am I in France.

I've always been obsessed with France, ever since I can remember. I took french classes in 7th and 8th grade, that was the earliest that I was allowed to take a foreign language. I think I must have been thirteen. My obsession started well before that, sometime in my childhood. I really have no idea what caused it, whether it was a movie, or a book, or some other stimulus, but my suspicion is that somewhere along the way during my formative years I picked up the idea that girls like French. And more importantly, that girls would like me if I spoke French. French is the language of love after all.

This little idea that I had, this little lie that I told myself was not the only of it's kind. I also believed that girls would like me if I could play the piano or guitar or if I was a good dancer. I haven't learned the guitar yet, but I became an excellent dancer in eleventh grade and I taught myself the piano sometime around the age of twenty. Don't assume that I do these things just for the girls, I don't, I am just recently discovering this correlation between things that I enjoy doing and a belief that girls like boys who do those things. Maybe there is no correlation maybe I'm just making it all up. Maybe when you don't spend a lot of time talking or sleeping you spend too much time thinking. I don't know... Maybe France isn't really what I wanted it to be. Actually, I never really wanted-- Never mind, trains approaching.



Currently Reading:
Sixty Million Frenchmen Can't Be Wrong: Why We Love France but Not the French

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