The start of the year felt like a fever dream. My thoughts were consumed by current world events, and privately, I struggled to process the emotions they stirred in me. It was heavy—overwhelming, even—and I knew it was time to retreat. Somehow, travel felt like the only thing that could calm my nerves.
While traveling takes me out of my comfort zone, it brings a new wave of trepidation, paired with a grounding I don’t think I’ll ever be able to fully put into words. Maybe my energy prepares itself for the journey—because of its quiet, healing effect on my mind.
So, I’m back in Paris.
From wandering through the city’s passages to my daily museum visits, every thought, every pause at a café, every piece of art on display feels like sunlight brushing across the sky. My mornings and afternoons are spent with strangers, as I struggle to refine my imperfect French. It’s become a routine I bask in—like a student on the first day of a new school year.
There’s something about the newness within this familiar feeling. It holds me like a warm embrace, full of love and quiet affection. Paris gives me a sense of freedom that both comforts and unsettles me.
Sometimes, I worry. I know there will come a time when my visits will become less frequent. So how do I hold onto this feeling? Why does it affect me so deeply? Will I ever stop needing it? And will the memory ever be enough?
I suppose this is what living is all about. In time, everything falls into place—when and where it’s meant to.
Until then, live the life you’ve dreamed of, even if, for now, it remains just a dream.
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