Last time I was in Paris, I walked with thousand others for the freedom of expression, against those who tried to mute our journalists. I sang with them. I hoped with them it would be the last time. I witnessed compassion, love and fear.
Friday, November 13th I was running errands when our phones told us what happened. We called friends and family: most of them were not aware of the situation, safe in their homes.
Today, I am not angry, just sad. Sad for victims, their friends and family. But also for all those who had to witness what happened: EMT, firemen, policemen, doctors, nurses...
I am also sad for this city I love. It feels like a good time to remember what I like the most about Paris. Remember good times and laughter.
Walking in small streets and discovering private gardens through an ajar door. The excitment of taking the train to go to Paris as a young kid. The smell of fresh baked bread. Going to see the Christmas windows. The long walks with my mom rue des Francs-Bourgeois.Visiting friends and family. The small chocolatier with its amazing creations. Being amazed by small shops where time had stopped long ago. Chosing a random café to sit and enjoy watching life go by. Stopping in the metro to listen to a talented musician. The galleries with their art you look at while walking by. Laughing at a play. Witnessing the way my dad knows everyone in the district. The kind owner of our local sushi place. The loud crowd smoking, drinking and laughing outside of bars. The incredible feeling of being in a theater on an election night. Going to the market to get fresh cheese and bread. How beautiful the city looks, day and night. The odd person you'll always see when you take the metro.
Paris, I miss you.
