As I stood outside the Charles de Gaulle Etoille station, with the Arc de’ Triomphe behind me and the Champs Eleyees stretching gloriously ahead, I was finding it hard to resist the temptation to forget time. I had first stood here years ago, an awkward teenager trying to make too much sense out of everything. Today I was 43 and I didn’t like anything with too much sense.
Looking back I wondered how much better I could have done, given who I was and where I came from. I had lived a fair part of my life by trial and error – by instinct. In my strange overcrowded existence I had all along been sustained by a body of reactive mechanisms that had taken me across continents in a search. I had lived several lives, each one breathing meaning into the other : A mother of an awkwardly tall, beautiful and vociferous daughter, a wife to someone whose placidity invariably settled the dust around me, a first generation teacher and a nature enthusiast.
My life had drenched me, fascinated me, scared and confused me, helped me to define and enrich my existence in endless pleasurable ways. But each moment had ripped me from my childhood moorings and shoved me onto the open sea. I had come a long way.
The sky was a brilliant azure – spreading endlessly over my head. I began to walk down the cobbled kerb; the bright magnolias blinding me and the warm Parisian sun warming
my back. The cafes were teeming with people – old, young, cocky, stylishly attired- sipping coffee and biting into the lavish croissants.
There was something about this city that got into me. It clung to my clothes and hair, got into my breath and lingered on. It was reminiscent of my mother. My mother! As I looked at my reflection in the meticulous show window she came back to me in a flash. I stared at her, savored her for a moment and walked on.
The street had become a sea of people and I was kind of carried away. Avenue George V was a step away. I walked past the grandeur and let myself go. I had seven days in the city and I was already planning the fun.
Looking back I wondered how much better I could have done, given who I was and where I came from. I had lived a fair part of my life by trial and error – by instinct. In my strange overcrowded existence I had all along been sustained by a body of reactive mechanisms that had taken me across continents in a search. I had lived several lives, each one breathing meaning into the other : A mother of an awkwardly tall, beautiful and vociferous daughter, a wife to someone whose placidity invariably settled the dust around me, a first generation teacher and a nature enthusiast.
My life had drenched me, fascinated me, scared and confused me, helped me to define and enrich my existence in endless pleasurable ways. But each moment had ripped me from my childhood moorings and shoved me onto the open sea. I had come a long way.
The sky was a brilliant azure – spreading endlessly over my head. I began to walk down the cobbled kerb; the bright magnolias blinding me and the warm Parisian sun warming
my back. The cafes were teeming with people – old, young, cocky, stylishly attired- sipping coffee and biting into the lavish croissants.
There was something about this city that got into me. It clung to my clothes and hair, got into my breath and lingered on. It was reminiscent of my mother. My mother! As I looked at my reflection in the meticulous show window she came back to me in a flash. I stared at her, savored her for a moment and walked on.
The street had become a sea of people and I was kind of carried away. Avenue George V was a step away. I walked past the grandeur and let myself go. I had seven days in the city and I was already planning the fun.
Beautifully written !!!
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