One More

My favorite sad girl movie is Someone Great, and it’s almost exclusively because of this one scene. The main character, sitting, crying on a train in New York, writing in her journal:

“Do you think I can have one more kiss? I’ll find closure on your lips and then I’ll go. Maybe, also, one more breakfast, one more lunch and one more dinner. I’ll be full and happy and we can part. But in between meals, maybe we can lie in bed one more time. One more prolonged moment where time suspends indefinitely as I rest my head on your chest. My hope is if we add up the one mores, it will equal a lifetime. And I’ll never have to get to the part where I let you go.”

She is, of course, writing about a breakup, but this heartbreak rings true as I leave Paris. From the moment I touched down, I knew this time would come to an end too fast. I knew there would never be enough one mores.

One more moment with my little host kids who became my best friends.

One more day of walking to pick up the little boy from school. The moment where he rounds the corner and sees me waiting outside the school gates, where he stands out like a highlighter decked in a bright yellow rain jacket, backpack and rain boots. Where he breaks into a grin and runs into my arms. Where I ask if he had a good day and he stubbornly says “No” before proceeding to tell me all about the wonderful activities he did that day.

One more day where we race to pick up the little girl from daycare. Who will spot her first? And it’s always her who finds us, waddling towards us with her little feet slapping like a duck against the floor. The two kids racing back outside to put on their socks and shoes - seeing over the year how they learned to do it themselves.

One more game with them. Be it hide and seek, where the kids refuse to close their eyes while counting, or tell me where they’re going to hide while I count. Or dancing to the music in the living room, with them begging for me to pick them up and spin them around. Or building forts on the couch, pretending to be wolves or lions or, their favorite, hedgehogs.

One more dinner. Whether it’s at the restaurant my host mom started to make fun of me for going to so often, or with the kids eagerly “helping” by dumping entire bags of food across the counter, or with my host family preparing a local French dish.

One more trip to a cafe. Stumbling upon the most delicious, rich and creamy hot chocolate in Paris. Going back at least once a week until they recognize me at once, always greeting me with a friendly wave and knowingly asking, “Un chocolat chaud?”

One more trip to a boulangerie. Thinking that surely I’ve found the best chocolate croissant in the world, only to turn down a random street the next day and discover another one even better than the last.

One more moment of learning. Starting with French classes that made me realize just how much I had left to learn. A wine-tasting class in Bordeaux where I discovered that I cannot for the life of me tell the difference between red wines. Or a croissant-making class in Paris where I gained a new appreciation for the art that I had been taking for granted as my favorite breakfast.

One more moment where I’m pushed out of my comfort zone. Going by myself to a restaurant or a bar. Struggling through a conversation only in French. Every last-minute train ride, traveling solo to a new city - count ‘em: 24 new cities across 8 new countries.  

One more moment with my new friends. Meeting a missed connection from UNC (how are there Tar Heels everywhere?) who gave me a sense of home even while I was 3,000 miles away. One more moment where I walk into a hostel and feel that instant, inexplicable connection that leads to a night fit for a movie together. One more long debate with the one who became my local guide, examining all the differences in just how differently Americans and the French perceive the world.

One more moment where Paris takes my breath away. Stumbling upon street musicians who deserve to be famous. A long walk along the Seine that became my favorite place to clear my head. A sunset that lights up the sky like a fire. And my personal favorite, a surprise sighting of the Eiffel Tower as it pokes through the cloudy grey sky.

One more moment where time stood still, but all the while, the year was rushing past. I felt like my host kid with his candy, begging for just one more!

This time, this life that lived in my head for so long as a dream, when it finally became real, still felt like a fantasy. I tried desperately to live in the moment, trying to be grateful for the memories as I made them.

I lived in Paris for 353 days this year, days made up of countless moments. And while the moments will never add up to a lifetime, it was a really good life.

Until we meet again, Paris.

xoxo,

Mat

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A Year Abroad