This morning I woke up, finished some last minute homework, had a cup of coffee, and set off for class.
I took the stairs down, rather than the elevator.
I left my courtyard and stepped out into the world, which was a little bit colder than usual this morning—it's starting to feel like autumn now.
I walked into my boulangerie to grab a croissant for breakfast, chiming "Bonjour Madame! Ca va bien?" as I crossed the threashhold to the sunny little bakery.
Faceless shapes passed me as my shoes clicked and clacked against gray pavement and striped crosswalks.
I passed the little Fleurist shop with the shaggy Yorkshire terrier that always sits obediently outside to charm potential customers.
I passed by the Pharmacy where the employees speak English.
I then passed by the other Pharmacy where the employees definitely DON'T speak English.
Thinking about nothing in particular, I walked under a row of chesnut trees, which seem to have stolen all the warmth from outside and stored it in their gold and red leaves.
As I turned the corner of Faubourg St. Antoine, the low morning sun jetted out from behind a building. The street was drenched in pretty autumn light.
I made a left, and then a right, and then slipped into number 89 where an hour and a half of French class was waiting for me.
Sounds like an ordinary morning right? Nothing special or exciting.
It wasn't until I was sitting in front of Madame Clemence in class that I realized how extraordinary my morning actually had been.
This morning, I just walked to class.
That's it. I didn't give a second thought to how the people on the street might be judging me. I wasn't trying frantically to avoid eye-contact with strangers or to abide by any French cultural codes. I wasn't looking around at the strangeness of everything—in fact it all felt quite familiar and normal. I truly was in sync with the city, and it felt so natural that I didn't even notice.
Yes, I think it was my first morning as a Parisian.
I took the stairs down, rather than the elevator.
I left my courtyard and stepped out into the world, which was a little bit colder than usual this morning—it's starting to feel like autumn now.
I walked into my boulangerie to grab a croissant for breakfast, chiming "Bonjour Madame! Ca va bien?" as I crossed the threashhold to the sunny little bakery.
Faceless shapes passed me as my shoes clicked and clacked against gray pavement and striped crosswalks.
I passed the little Fleurist shop with the shaggy Yorkshire terrier that always sits obediently outside to charm potential customers.
I passed by the Pharmacy where the employees speak English.
I then passed by the other Pharmacy where the employees definitely DON'T speak English.
Thinking about nothing in particular, I walked under a row of chesnut trees, which seem to have stolen all the warmth from outside and stored it in their gold and red leaves.
As I turned the corner of Faubourg St. Antoine, the low morning sun jetted out from behind a building. The street was drenched in pretty autumn light.
I made a left, and then a right, and then slipped into number 89 where an hour and a half of French class was waiting for me.
Sounds like an ordinary morning right? Nothing special or exciting.
It wasn't until I was sitting in front of Madame Clemence in class that I realized how extraordinary my morning actually had been.
This morning, I just walked to class.
That's it. I didn't give a second thought to how the people on the street might be judging me. I wasn't trying frantically to avoid eye-contact with strangers or to abide by any French cultural codes. I wasn't looking around at the strangeness of everything—in fact it all felt quite familiar and normal. I truly was in sync with the city, and it felt so natural that I didn't even notice.
Yes, I think it was my first morning as a Parisian.
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