I’m panicking a little. The end is happening too fast.
I said goodbye to Erica when she left for Italy last month. I said goodbye to Cynthia, who’s taking off for LA this week. And now Rachel, who’s spending the last six weeks of the year in Germany.
I suddenly don’t have any more free weekends. My landlord let me know he has a tenant who wants to move in January 10. And they’ve hired a new writer to replace me at work.
Replaceable! I’m replaceable!
Yes, I’ve always known Paris wasn’t forever. I came over with a six-month contract, renewed for another nine months and then, oh alright, I’ll stick around for another six months. Until December 31, 2010. But now, with less than two months to go, I’m already feeling sad and weepy.
What am I going to do without the Velibs? The smell of the bread baking at the boulangeries? The markets and fromageries, my treehouse, the little side streets? Where will I get my macaron fixes?
There are all the museums, patisseries and restaurants I have yet to try. The views I haven’t seen yet. There are weekend (Bordeaux!) and day trips (Deauville!) and extended holidays (Copenhagen! Berlin!) I wanted to take.
I haven’t built a proper French wardrobe, mastered the language (ha, not even close), figured out how to successfully flirt or developed any French cooking skills.
I still don’t own anything by Louis Vuitton.
I am so looking forward to going home. This, I know and feel in my bones and heart. But I also don’t want this to end. I have built a wonderful life here. I have overcome obstacles and dealt with challenges (not always gracefully); I have learned about a foreign culture and myself; I have grown and I have had so. much. fun.
Paris has been amazing. I know I have been living my dream and I am eternally grateful for that. I only hope new dreams will arise and the bliss I feel in this city will be found elsewhere in my future.