The other day, as I was roaming the aisles of the supermarché somewhere in between the jambon cru and the petits suisses, I found myself reading, "un euro soixante-dix" instead of one "euro seventy". Bizarre. I haven't thought to myself in French since I lived here as a child. Later, as I walked down the wrong street, I said to myself, non, j'ai dû prendre l'autre rue. Again, I stopped to try and comprehend why my thoughts were in this other language.
I think that it might be because I am coming to terms with this new life. I feel comfortable living in a city that to some may seem completely foreign, but to me was once home.
I will admit, the first few days were difficult. I was uneasy with my French, I was apprehensive about meeting new people, and part of me was still back in the States. But after a couple of nights' rest next to Sélénon and the January french Vogue, I found the confidence that I had forgotten.
I now walk like I know where I am going because, well, I now know where I'm going. I step off the métro and no longer awkwardly look left and then right to orient myself. I wear all black. All of the time. I drink red wine with lunch, dinner, and everything in between. And I pick up the daily paper Direct Matin on my way out of the apartment.
Although it has only been a week since I first dragged my jet-lagged self to this place that I now call home, I have high hopes for the next four months. Four months may seem like a long time, but I know that they will come and go in the blink of an eye. I am already beginning to have thoughts of prolonging my stay in Paris. Who knows, four months might turn into the rest of my life!