I'm approaching my last day, the abrupt end of my long journey abroad. This "experience," as I will call it, has been such a fulfilling one, an enlightening one, and a surprising one.
Yet it feels unfinished, tonight, as I sit among piles of clothes and maps and photos and memories that wait to know if they will be packed up or left behind.
I suppose I thought that by the last day, my story would come to a conclusion. I thought the protagonist of this tale would be able to wrap up all that she has learned into one neatly-packaged and eloquently-put "moral of the story."
Instead, I just have more questions; I have more to learn, more to see, and more to understand.
At some point, in the time between hugging my history professor goodbye and finally pulling my suitcase out of my closet to start packing, as I walked my usual route down Faubourg St. Antoine and Avenue Ledru-Rollin, past all those cafes and fluerists and pharmacies and boulangeries and boutiques that I have passed nearly every day over these months, it hit me.
I'm leaving.
and I wonder, when will I be back? What have I been taking for granted and what will I miss? I can't pack up all of the lessons and friends and adventures and trials and experiences that I have collected while in Paris—after all, there's a 50 pound weight limit for luggage with the airline I'll be taking home.
I have ONE day left in Paris. How do I want to spend it?
Well, I can assure you that I do not want to spend the whole day tomorrow packing. So I will leave on that note, with that unanswered question, and tonight instead I will hopefully finish up all of my packing and pre-departure preparation.
There's one thing I'll keep in mind though, as I'm listening to melancholy music, placing folded up memories in the pockets of my bags, and feeling contemplative, sad, and a little poetic (because that's exactly how ridiculous I imagine I'll be acting). To Paris, I only say "au revoir", which means, until we see each other again—or perhaps to Paris, now my good friend, I can informally say, "Salut." But most definitely, I do not say adieu!
Yet it feels unfinished, tonight, as I sit among piles of clothes and maps and photos and memories that wait to know if they will be packed up or left behind.
I suppose I thought that by the last day, my story would come to a conclusion. I thought the protagonist of this tale would be able to wrap up all that she has learned into one neatly-packaged and eloquently-put "moral of the story."
Instead, I just have more questions; I have more to learn, more to see, and more to understand.
At some point, in the time between hugging my history professor goodbye and finally pulling my suitcase out of my closet to start packing, as I walked my usual route down Faubourg St. Antoine and Avenue Ledru-Rollin, past all those cafes and fluerists and pharmacies and boulangeries and boutiques that I have passed nearly every day over these months, it hit me.
I'm leaving.
and I wonder, when will I be back? What have I been taking for granted and what will I miss? I can't pack up all of the lessons and friends and adventures and trials and experiences that I have collected while in Paris—after all, there's a 50 pound weight limit for luggage with the airline I'll be taking home.
I have ONE day left in Paris. How do I want to spend it?
Well, I can assure you that I do not want to spend the whole day tomorrow packing. So I will leave on that note, with that unanswered question, and tonight instead I will hopefully finish up all of my packing and pre-departure preparation.
There's one thing I'll keep in mind though, as I'm listening to melancholy music, placing folded up memories in the pockets of my bags, and feeling contemplative, sad, and a little poetic (because that's exactly how ridiculous I imagine I'll be acting). To Paris, I only say "au revoir", which means, until we see each other again—or perhaps to Paris, now my good friend, I can informally say, "Salut." But most definitely, I do not say adieu!
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