Goodbye, my dear Paris.

This will be my last post in this blog, for the time has come to leave my fair city of love.

My quest to find employment was actually rather successful... My quest to renew my visa, however, was not. Due to some ridiculous changes in immigration laws, I was unable to renew my visa, and am now forced to return back to America. I am disappointed not to be staying in France, but.. a bit relieved at the same time.

I have created a new life for myself throughout the past two years living here. I've had crazy adventures, wonderful voyages, and developed quiet a few important relationships. I've had a mentality that my life is here. France is where I belong. Now that the reality of ending this chapter of my life has set in, I've begun to realize that I also belong in the States. I miss my family terribly. I've neglected more than a fair share of very important friendships. There are quite a number of things that I will be extremely happy about upon my return-- such as less administrative bullshit, not being a foreigner, no language barriers, and of course, not losing money because of a poor exchange rate. I'll be able to buy foods that I love, drive my car (once I renew my license, of course), celebrate major (and minor) holidays with my family, find a job much more easily, and get back in touch with my roots. I am sad to be leaving, though. I'll miss buying a fresh baguette, grabbing a café with my friends, roaming through narrow winding cobblestone streets, and leading a rather independent lifestyle.

I can honestly say that I have lived each day as if it were my last. I've done everything that I wanted to do, seen the sites I wanted to see, and developed relationships that I've only dreamed of having.

My heart holds a very special place for Paris, and always will. This city isn't going anywhere, and I can always come back. Perhaps in a year I will apply to do my masters here... or perhaps a company will sponsor my visa and I can make my glorious return. But, for the moment, I have to continue my great adventure known as life. I'm excited for a new chapter in my life to start. I have big dreams for myself, and expect many great things to come. Who knows, perhaps you will find me in New York City, or maybe back in Boston, or possibly on the West Coast? Nothing is certain, but I'm ready for whatever the future has in store for me.

And with that, my dear blog readers, I bid you a bittersweet goodbye. It's been the experience of a lifetime.

Je vous embrasse très fort,
Dena

The life of the unemployed ex-pat

Alas, 'tis time for some life updates, n'est-ce pas?

Real quick, as my internet connection barely exists, I'd like to fill ya'll in on what's happening in life.
Firstly, I'm still seriously unemployed. I'm talking... no babysitting jobs, not even a job scooping ice cream (which we all know is my true trade). It's been pretty rough on me, to be honest. I've sent out countless resumés, contacted tons of alumni, and just networked until I could network no more. As of today, I've had two interviews... which, is fairly depressing.

Perhaps I'm really full of myself, but I think that my profile is rather unique. Afterall, I do have a French bachelors, plus I speak English, and I have some pretty weighty internship experience... so why am I not getting hired? Oh, right, because the economy SUCKS.

As of right now, the game plan is to find a job, and stay in Paris.
I wish I had more updates to give you... but I lead a rather boring life. I sleep in late (because I can... mwahaha), eat something, putz around my studio, apply to some jobs, go outside, wander, see my friends, and most likely have a drink. Let's just say that happy hour has become my favorite kind of hour. And no, not just because of the alcohol... I really enjoy the whole atmosphere of happy hour. People are tired, getting out of work, and just want to kick back and have a nice drink. It's like a mini-thanksgiving every day! Sitting around a table with loved ones, and giving thanks to all that surrounds you. Plus, since I lead a rather solitary lifestyle, being with my friends during this time is quite a treat.

Even though I'm not doing much with my life, I still really, and I mean REALLY, love this city.
That's all for now. I suppose I'll write when I'm a little more inspired.

bisous

My Paris.

At the ripe age of 23, I find myself still experiencing firsts. Today, for the first time in my life, I went to the cinema to watch a movie by myself. It was the best decision that I've made in a long time.

I had been yearning to see Woody Allen's latest movie "Midnight in Paris" for a while now. To much disappointment, most of my friends had already seen it. Some loved it, some hated it. Their opinions didn't phase me though, for my desire to see this film has relentlessly teased me each time I pass a cinema or billboard.

I do not particularly wish to write a movie review, for I am under-qualified and frankly couldn't be bothered. Is "Midnight in Paris" Allen's finest production according to critics? Most likely, it is not. To me, however, this movie struck my core.

I've been ignoring this blog for a while now, using "being busy" as an excuse. Truth be told, I've been uninspired. I was sick of writing about my mundane daily activities, or the places that I traveled to. I felt no desire to share the course of my life events with you because quite frankly, life has become somewhat of a routine. Go to school, do some work, finish school, move to Paris, be anxious about the uncertainties of life and where I'm headed, apply for jobs, be confused about myself...

Until now.

As I write this now, my eyes well with tears. Never have I felt so at home in a place where I have nothing that binds me. I have no family here, no job, soon to have no visa. I've made some friends over the past two years, granted. However, from my experiences, friendships can be everlasting, or relative to a certain point in your life. As sad as this might seem, I know that many of the friendships I currently have will be lost two changing lifestyles and lack of communication. It is a sad reality that I am faced with, and has started to haunt me over the past few weeks as I live alone in my lovely studio next to the Luxembourg Gardens. I've been going about my daily routine, lost in a city that I knew I once loved, unsure if it still loved me and I it.

Paris will forever be my city of wonder and uncertainty, of mystery and cliché, of confidence and doubt, and above all, of love. If I recall correctly, I once blogged about the movie "Paris, je t'aime" and how in one vignette, an aging American single post-women is trapped in a life of loneliness. One day, while sitting in a park, she realizes that while she does not have a significant other to love or share experiences or feelings with, Paris, this marvelous city that moves my entire being, loves her, and she loves it.

I cannot accurately describe what this city does to me, or why she affects my soul so strongly. While I sometimes feel so lost in this condensed city of scowling, thin Parisians, Hausmann-style apartments cloistered together on nautilus-shaped, nonsensical streets, and the lingering smell of cigarette smoke and freshly baked baguettes that is magically disgusting and wonderful, I know that in the deepest part of my being, my heart truly and undoubtedly is in Paris.

As I sat in the tiny theater just around the corner from my house, watching the 2pm showing of Midnight in Paris, a rush of emotions took over me. Tears pricked my eyes as I watched scenes shot in the neighborhoods I've come to know and discover. While the storyline is whimsical and fantastical, the fantasy is somewhat my reality. In the movie, the protagonist is an author, and dreams of living in Paris in the 20's. While I am neither author nor painter, and am fully aware that I will not be able to visit a different period in time, the message in the movie is clear and true to me. You do what you want to do, and you live in the place that makes you feel like nowhere else can.

Like the protagonist in the movie, I know where I belong. That place is, and will always be, Paris.

Welcome home.

(Up)(Down)(All around)dates

Tis the season of nervous breakdowns, fa la la la la la la la la.

I've got a lot of things cookin' right now. Here's basically what my life has come to:
1)My thesis
2)Classes
3)Figuring out my future (getting a job vs getting an internship, moving to Paris/how to stay in Europe and legally find employment/going back home to work/where would I live...)

My thesis is going nowhere fast. I'm so far behind on it and starting to freak out. It's my own fault. I love the subject, have done my research, and now it's time to buckle down and write.

So, on that note... I'm still alive and this blog definitely still exists, for those of my few and concerned readers.
'K. I'm done procrastinating. Time to get my thesis groove on!

Ellen, remembered

It's easy to remember the last of your days. Days filled with sterile gauze, endless drawers of morphine and vicoden. Days filled with short cropped hair that fell freely, like a bird molting its feathers. Days filled with pail, ashen skin, yellow fingernails, and gray pyjama outfits. Days of me caring for you, as if the roles had turned and now I was your mother. Those days, the most painful, are for some reason the easiest to remember. But there were so many other days. So many better days.

Days of long, slender fingers gently sweeping over ivory keys as you played Bridge Over Troubled Water for the umpteenth time. Days of hair-dye stained Ojai peach tee-shirts and ratty jungle beach towels. There were days where you did jumping jacks up and down the black and white tiled hallway floor singing every single verse to What Do You Do With A Drunken Sailor.

There were weekends of crossword puzzles. Of whole-grain wheat bread grilled cheese sandwiches. Of coffee ring stains on the kitchen table.

There were summers of hopeful gardening, though never successful enough to look like our neighbors' gardens. There were the warm nights where we would catch you jumping on the trampoline. The hot days of tunafish sandwich car-picnics to Wrenthem for the always agonizing shopping trips.

There were years of secretly buying Auntie Ethel's Hanukkah presents for us in the hopes that the prefect gift might somehow unite us, even for just once a year. There were years worth of beige, eggplant, brown, black, and gray clothing from Chicos... because it was just oh so fashionable. There were years of Chicken Pad Thai from 4 Seasons. Of having 9834578923 billion pads of post-it notes in your desk drawer. Years of skiddamarinkydinkydinks and Grungetta imitations. Of cold winter nights warmed up by the seemingly random dinner of baked potatoes and broccoli with cheddar cheese sauce.
Years of alternating sleeping flat on your face with Cleo the cat perched just on the nape of your neck/shoulders, or falling asleep on the downstairs couch with the TV on.

There were years of Special Time. Of secrets told. Of distant memories enlightened. Of walking on the ceiling. Years of peanut M&Ms and porcelain dolls. Years of "being allergic" to nail polish even though you totally weren't. Years of snuggling, and nest making.

And holidays. Passover 10 plague reinactments, complete with ping-pong ball "hail" and beanie-baby cows. Thanksgivings when porch-frozen soda bottles exploded to the heavens, when marshmallows flowed freely across Bernice's spotless oven. Years of building the Sukkah, of creating our own Menorahs. Birthdays.. I turned 14 and you were in the hospital going through chemo. That sucked. But, there was also the birthday when you had to run to Stop and Shop and buy a new cake because the dog ate the one left out on the counter. Or the birthday that we did arts and crafts dolls. Or my rollerskating birthday when you got me an amazing Winne the Pooh cake from BJs and I thought it was THE coolest thing ever.

We had adventures. Our 1800 mile New Mexico exploration. Bicker bicker bicker. The days when you brought us into Boston with you and let us play with the cute deaf babies in the nursery. Remember how sometimes while talking to us you would also start signing too? Summers in Virginia at Colonial Williamsburg with Amanda and Ms Malone. That fateful summer when the Saab's clutch broke (again) and we ended up for the first time at Wayside with the gang.

Remember that time you reamed Diane Newman because she complained that Hannah was too tall and was blocking her from being seeing by the congregation? Remember having tea parties with our teapot/mug combos that we bought from Christmas Tree Shop?

You sometimes called Mema "Ma" and I always thought it was funny. You always stayed up with me and helped me finished my school projects even though I started them the night before they were due... every time. You would always tell me I was beautiful even though we both knew I was beyond fat. And I believed you.

You were the only person I ever met to wear hard contact lenses. Your glasses were always crooked because you fell asleep with them on. Once in a while you would show me your original Barbie from when you were little. It was such a treat for me.

When the Shores came to visit, your usual carefree persona turned nearly Nazi like, and we were all forced to partake in a multi-hour house cleaning session, which by the end of one could theoretically eat off of the floor.

 

We watched Wizard of Oz and Peter Pan starring Mary Martin. You would sing The Hills Are Alive from the Sound of Music and do this creepy little kid voice when appropriate. You and I would waltz, quite literally, up and down the hallway screaming SHALL WE DANCE BADUM BUM BUMP from the King and I.

There were 6 months of dispair, of illness, of darkness. But, there was 14 years we shared of hilarity, happiness, some fights, and always.. always.. always love.