I think it's because Paris is a dream for mostly everyone who arrives here with wide, dewy eyes and heavy suitcases loaded with expectations higher than their heels which are completely unsuitable for the metro steps. I think it's because we drop everything and everyone and leave it all behind for the throbbing lights of this sleepless city because of the wisdom and wholeness of a city that's seen everything, and we're all just hoping that some of its stardust will rub off on our skin. We see the tower and the bridges and the fairy lights and the canals and the lovers and we miss the greyness in the shadows of any city, no matter how bright its light parts are. And the black parts are what make it beautiful, the depth and dimension of any reality. And that's what we're missing from our psyches, from our images of this city of meticulous architecture and the sheen of lacquered surfaces. We're missing the notion that perfection is a fantasy bred from the fairy tales of expectations sung to us by the legend-tellers of our fathers. We live and breathe these expectations until we come to the brink of it all and we're here and we're staring its darkness in the face and we're lost and confused and wondering what we're doing here. And we realize perfection can't exist even in a city that starves itself for beauty and even in a city that is leaking with prettiness.
And one could argue that imperfections breed perfection, that perfection cannot exist in a one-dimensional state, that there is no such thing as black or white but simply shades of grey, that perfection can exist if one accepts flaws as a part of its makeup.
There is great power in coming to accept expectations as just that, as a dream that instills visions of perfection into our minds that fuel us to strive for the unachievable. And that can push us to create beautiful things. To see beautiful things and to meet beautiful people on our quest for absolute beauty. But it can also drive us to the brink of insanity, to the depths of emptiness once we are void of the tears of our disappointment, to the edge of giving up entirely. And sadness is in fact a part of beauty and maybe tears are just rivers of prismatic rainbows that signify we are lucky to have something to lose, to miss, to yearn for. That the ability to feel is perfection enough and it wold be a very strange world void of the darkness that makes us scared. That the light would be blinding with no night for relief and that we learn when our expectations are dashed and we have to compromise.
It's about compromise.
There are dark parts to every city and every life and every person.
Maybe one day we can learn to see darkness as beauty.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D3S7LCtvy5Q
Sunday 29 September 2013
Thursday 26 September 2013
Focusing on the Little Moments
Happy Little Au Pairing Moments:
-when la fille helps le garcon play piano
-picnics
-biking through a park, a total escape from the city
-when les enfants help unload the dishwasher (with prying), clear their plates (little prying), clear the whole table, and set up the next morning's breakfast (no prying whatsoever, I must be doing something right).
-bedtime stories
-when le garcon reads his French book with his French accent
-when I actually help le garcon with a French word
-when I discovered le garcon doodling love notes to his amoureuse (writing this feels like a betrayal to our pinky promise that I wouldn't tell anyone about it)
-when time goes by quickly wrapped up in a board game
-the nostalgia and weirdness of their childhood being so similar to mine in some aspects (bike rides, dance and judo classes, Clue, Monopoly, Uno, and hauntingly similar storybooks)
-the friendship bracelet la fille gave me
-when le garcon writes in his journal that I am amongst his favourite nounous
These moments keep me going.
Love always,
Coral
-when la fille helps le garcon play piano
-picnics
-biking through a park, a total escape from the city
-when les enfants help unload the dishwasher (with prying), clear their plates (little prying), clear the whole table, and set up the next morning's breakfast (no prying whatsoever, I must be doing something right).
-bedtime stories
-when le garcon reads his French book with his French accent
-when I actually help le garcon with a French word
-when I discovered le garcon doodling love notes to his amoureuse (writing this feels like a betrayal to our pinky promise that I wouldn't tell anyone about it)
-when time goes by quickly wrapped up in a board game
-the nostalgia and weirdness of their childhood being so similar to mine in some aspects (bike rides, dance and judo classes, Clue, Monopoly, Uno, and hauntingly similar storybooks)
-the friendship bracelet la fille gave me
-when le garcon writes in his journal that I am amongst his favourite nounous
These moments keep me going.
Love always,
Coral
On Feeling Proud and Taking Risks
I'm a perfectionist.
I've known this since I was six and would cry over getting one wrong on my spelling tests.
I tried to battle it by not caring.
Trying to desensitize myself of the act of obsessing over things largely out of my control.
But blase never came naturally because the truth of the matter is that I care too much.
About every little thing: the way that person looks at me, fights left unresolved, percentages dipping by point five, falling just short of a lofty goal.
I beat myself up because I put so much pressure on myself that I can't even reach the door to all the things I want to achieve.
Sometimes it works in my favour.
Caring a lot breeds drive and determination and genuine relationships. Hard work is a result of the need to achieve and achievement is a result of hard work.
I moved to Paris.
And I worked so hard to achieve this and it was a major achievement.
I got here.
I made it.
It's been almost a month and I'm still here and I'm still happy and I'm still alive.
But there is so much I still want, so many things I want to see, and I beat myself up for 'not being able' to achieve these things. I put that in quotations because I don't believe in not being able to do things.
But the fact of the matter is that it is healthy to be proud, to celebrate the things we have achieved, from as small as making a new best friend to as big as moving to another country.
And my drive will always push me to achieve more.
It's about making a friend of a foe.
Things are meant to happen because the universe works in strange ways and things line up when we need them to.
Look around you.
Count the things you are proud of.
The things you have built or collected or bred with your bare hands, your sweating skin, your determined eyes.
And be proud of them.
We are capable of so much.
It's about making something of that possibility.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FUg7PSuC3ZU
I've known this since I was six and would cry over getting one wrong on my spelling tests.
I tried to battle it by not caring.
Trying to desensitize myself of the act of obsessing over things largely out of my control.
But blase never came naturally because the truth of the matter is that I care too much.
About every little thing: the way that person looks at me, fights left unresolved, percentages dipping by point five, falling just short of a lofty goal.
I beat myself up because I put so much pressure on myself that I can't even reach the door to all the things I want to achieve.
Sometimes it works in my favour.
Caring a lot breeds drive and determination and genuine relationships. Hard work is a result of the need to achieve and achievement is a result of hard work.
I moved to Paris.
And I worked so hard to achieve this and it was a major achievement.
I got here.
I made it.
It's been almost a month and I'm still here and I'm still happy and I'm still alive.
But there is so much I still want, so many things I want to see, and I beat myself up for 'not being able' to achieve these things. I put that in quotations because I don't believe in not being able to do things.
But the fact of the matter is that it is healthy to be proud, to celebrate the things we have achieved, from as small as making a new best friend to as big as moving to another country.
And my drive will always push me to achieve more.
It's about making a friend of a foe.
Things are meant to happen because the universe works in strange ways and things line up when we need them to.
Look around you.
Count the things you are proud of.
The things you have built or collected or bred with your bare hands, your sweating skin, your determined eyes.
And be proud of them.
We are capable of so much.
It's about making something of that possibility.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FUg7PSuC3ZU
Tuesday 24 September 2013
Surprise Street Markets and Vintage Shopping
Whilst trying to find a vintage store near Republique on Saturday, I stumbled upon the most ginourmous street flea market.
Gold Pleated Gap Skirt from Street Market
Vintage (faux) leather jacket from By Flowers Vintage in Montmartre
Vintage (real) leather boots from By Flowers
All in all, it was a lovely afternoon.
Yay for really late blog posts!
Love always,
Coral
Colds and Eiffel Tower Nights
The past two days have involved a lot of nose blowing, sneezing, sore throats and sore heads.
I decided to brave the sickness last night and go to the Eiffel Tower with some friends to watch it sparkle.
It was a beautiful night, but quickly turned disastrous.
I will show you the beautiful part first:
We drank wine by the Seine as the Tower sparkled and the night was clear and the moon was bright.
Then I went home.
Disaster A: I got lost transferring from an adjacent station to St. Lazare station, and found myself lost in a completely unfamiliar area of Paris. The waiter I asked for help was less than helpful, just saying TOUT DROIT, TOUT DROIT MADAME, which makes no sense in a city that doesn't comprehend straight lines.
With a sigh of relief I spotted the station, and ran inside to catch my train that was scheduled to depart in five minutes.
Disaster B: Once inside, my heart sunk as the TV screen declared that my next train would be departing at 5:31 am. Not 12:31 am. OKAY. So I hopped on a different train that would drop me off at a station 20 minutes of a walk from my place, on which there was a giant teddy bear.
Disaster C: Once off the train, my phone was at 10% battery, it was pitch black, and my maps app wasn't working. So I asked a construction worker who pointed me in the wrong direction, wandered around completely panicked for five minutes which felt like five hours, then my maps app decided to work. I found myself on a familiar street and wished I had just stayed tucked up in bed.
There isn't much more comforting than finding your street after being lost at one in the morning with a bad cold.
Last night involved very little sleep and a lot of nose blowing, so today involves a lot of music, tea, and bed rest.
Living alone whilst sick sucks a lot.
Love always,
Coral
I decided to brave the sickness last night and go to the Eiffel Tower with some friends to watch it sparkle.
It was a beautiful night, but quickly turned disastrous.
I will show you the beautiful part first:
Then I went home.
Disaster A: I got lost transferring from an adjacent station to St. Lazare station, and found myself lost in a completely unfamiliar area of Paris. The waiter I asked for help was less than helpful, just saying TOUT DROIT, TOUT DROIT MADAME, which makes no sense in a city that doesn't comprehend straight lines.
With a sigh of relief I spotted the station, and ran inside to catch my train that was scheduled to depart in five minutes.
Disaster B: Once inside, my heart sunk as the TV screen declared that my next train would be departing at 5:31 am. Not 12:31 am. OKAY. So I hopped on a different train that would drop me off at a station 20 minutes of a walk from my place, on which there was a giant teddy bear.
Disaster C: Once off the train, my phone was at 10% battery, it was pitch black, and my maps app wasn't working. So I asked a construction worker who pointed me in the wrong direction, wandered around completely panicked for five minutes which felt like five hours, then my maps app decided to work. I found myself on a familiar street and wished I had just stayed tucked up in bed.
Last night involved very little sleep and a lot of nose blowing, so today involves a lot of music, tea, and bed rest.
Living alone whilst sick sucks a lot.
Love always,
Coral
Sunday 22 September 2013
Saturdays Like These
Thanks to obligatory babysitting last night and a scratchy throat, I'm having a beautifully quiet morning.
Post tomorrow re: this weekend. Again, I cannot express my thanks for the people in my life right now. I am so lucky to have all of you. Thanks for making me feel human.
I've been surrounded by such absolute positivity since my last post and would like to thank each one of you who took the time to like, comment, or message me in the past couple days. I know it sounds cheesy but you really all keep me going sometimes.
-happy things in a foreign land part two-
1. Buying a kettle. I can now make tea in. My. Room. From a kettle. I swear it tastes different.
2. Blooms.
3. House (room) cleaning. I swear every inch of scrubbed surface and decluttered space clears an inch of my mind. *room tour coming soon*
4. Vintage shopping. This is my plan for the afternoon, and the prospect of treasures always brings a different kind of happiness. Let alone Parisian treasures.
5. Discovering new music. I recently (this morning) discovered Mike Dignam, and I will link my favourite songs below. They really resonate with me, and make you feel like just not caring about anything that weighs you down and inspires you to do happy things.
Great Escape http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JOUJYzGNOxY
Post tomorrow re: this weekend. Again, I cannot express my thanks for the people in my life right now. I am so lucky to have all of you. Thanks for making me feel human.
Thursday 19 September 2013
Truth Telling
So this post isn't a usual one.
I'm sitting at my desk after (praise the lord) finishing early, and Les Enfants are happily playing while La Mere does her thing.
I've been thinking a lot lately.
I don't know how, between all the amazing things I've been doing and all the amazing people I've been meeting.
But there has been something nagging, and for once I am struggling to put it into words.
And that scares me a little bit, because words are how I release things from the spiderweb of my brain into the outside world.
And being scared to write something is scary.
But I've met some really, truly, amazing people over the past couple of weeks and they have sparked something in me, a little hint of wisdom, a little push, the little nudge I needed.
I love that you guys read this: it makes me feel less alone in this big wide world of unfriendly people and darkening days as summer approaches fall and I'm uncomfortable. Writing this makes me comfortable.
So I think this is the best place to do this, to get this thing off my chest.
Because I can't live with biting hard down on my tongue anymore.
Pearl Harbour was a military strike by the Japanese that caused the US to enter into the Second World War.
My pearl harbour, my turning point, the catalytic event that caused everything else to follow like dominoes, was when I fell in love with her. The electricity that felt like no other and the satisfaction that came with knowing something so surely, so undoubtedly.
My Second World War was the resistance to my rebel soldiers who threatened to break everything I had and everything I wanted. They threatened to open me up to the rain that would surely fall, the tears of disapproval and the frays in the fabric that was a tapestry of the life I wanted so badly.
And my resistance fought hard.
They lied and they stole and they fought with everything they had to bury my rebels far beneath the surface, far beneath the deep dark ground.
And my intrinsic war is ending.
The relief that is felt when one permits themselves to feel absolute joy, love that had been kept buried for years and years and years, is indescribable.
And I'm doing my best to describe it.
It's like feeling incomplete, forcing yourself to love something you can't, forcing yourself to fit into a mold that your bones simply can't squeeze into. It's like begging on your knees to feel what they all do, and then suddenly realizing you've been feeling it for years.
It's like losing your keys and realizing they're in your pocket.
So if by now you still haven't seen the picture I've been struggling to create, I will say it simplified. Watered down, diluted to a simplicity far below its multifaceted intricacies. Because the wonder of humans is that we can think and feel emotions and change. And nothing will ever be black and white.
I've been forcing myself to be black or white for too long and I've come to accept the greyness that sometimes clouds around the edges of things like this.
So I will not attempt to restrict myself by forcing myself from one box into another.
But I will say this: the only time I have felt that impeccable clarity of absolute joy, the electricity of the rush brought by another's skin, it has been with a girl.
And if that makes me gay, if that makes it easier for you to understand, then that is what you need to do to simplify the grey, to outline the abstract. And that is okay. Just know that emotions are fluid and people are changeable.
I guess we're all still figuring it out.
And I guess I've figured a part of it out.
And I really needed to share that with you.
Because at the end of the day we're all in this together.
Now, please watch this video.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JoL-MnXvK80
I'm sitting at my desk after (praise the lord) finishing early, and Les Enfants are happily playing while La Mere does her thing.
I've been thinking a lot lately.
I don't know how, between all the amazing things I've been doing and all the amazing people I've been meeting.
But there has been something nagging, and for once I am struggling to put it into words.
And that scares me a little bit, because words are how I release things from the spiderweb of my brain into the outside world.
And being scared to write something is scary.
But I've met some really, truly, amazing people over the past couple of weeks and they have sparked something in me, a little hint of wisdom, a little push, the little nudge I needed.
I love that you guys read this: it makes me feel less alone in this big wide world of unfriendly people and darkening days as summer approaches fall and I'm uncomfortable. Writing this makes me comfortable.
So I think this is the best place to do this, to get this thing off my chest.
Because I can't live with biting hard down on my tongue anymore.
Pearl Harbour was a military strike by the Japanese that caused the US to enter into the Second World War.
My pearl harbour, my turning point, the catalytic event that caused everything else to follow like dominoes, was when I fell in love with her. The electricity that felt like no other and the satisfaction that came with knowing something so surely, so undoubtedly.
My Second World War was the resistance to my rebel soldiers who threatened to break everything I had and everything I wanted. They threatened to open me up to the rain that would surely fall, the tears of disapproval and the frays in the fabric that was a tapestry of the life I wanted so badly.
And my resistance fought hard.
They lied and they stole and they fought with everything they had to bury my rebels far beneath the surface, far beneath the deep dark ground.
And my intrinsic war is ending.
The relief that is felt when one permits themselves to feel absolute joy, love that had been kept buried for years and years and years, is indescribable.
And I'm doing my best to describe it.
It's like feeling incomplete, forcing yourself to love something you can't, forcing yourself to fit into a mold that your bones simply can't squeeze into. It's like begging on your knees to feel what they all do, and then suddenly realizing you've been feeling it for years.
It's like losing your keys and realizing they're in your pocket.
So if by now you still haven't seen the picture I've been struggling to create, I will say it simplified. Watered down, diluted to a simplicity far below its multifaceted intricacies. Because the wonder of humans is that we can think and feel emotions and change. And nothing will ever be black and white.
I've been forcing myself to be black or white for too long and I've come to accept the greyness that sometimes clouds around the edges of things like this.
So I will not attempt to restrict myself by forcing myself from one box into another.
But I will say this: the only time I have felt that impeccable clarity of absolute joy, the electricity of the rush brought by another's skin, it has been with a girl.
And if that makes me gay, if that makes it easier for you to understand, then that is what you need to do to simplify the grey, to outline the abstract. And that is okay. Just know that emotions are fluid and people are changeable.
I guess we're all still figuring it out.
And I guess I've figured a part of it out.
And I really needed to share that with you.
Because at the end of the day we're all in this together.
Now, please watch this video.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JoL-MnXvK80
Party, Sleep, Eat, Au Pair
This has been my schedule for the past week.
Add in my French courses, and you got yourself one tired Coral.
The thing is, how does one sleep in this city, this city with artists and books and wine and music and lights and culture and always something happening.
I always feel like I'm missing something.
Last night we had some wine and a little get together at my friend's apartment, then woke up and went for a walk around the Latin Quarter. We got lunch at an awesome and awesomely-priced bistro, then browsed Shakespeare and Company, walked along the Seine to Notre Dame, then parted ways to look after our respective children.
Tonight, a night out in Bastille is being planned, then tomorrow morning I have French Classes With The Woman Who Couldn't Care Less. I guess her not caring and the lessons being quite coma-inducing will aid in my exhausted state of Trying To Learn New Things While Hungover.
Add in my French courses, and you got yourself one tired Coral.
The thing is, how does one sleep in this city, this city with artists and books and wine and music and lights and culture and always something happening.
I always feel like I'm missing something.
Last night we had some wine and a little get together at my friend's apartment, then woke up and went for a walk around the Latin Quarter. We got lunch at an awesome and awesomely-priced bistro, then browsed Shakespeare and Company, walked along the Seine to Notre Dame, then parted ways to look after our respective children.
Tonight, a night out in Bastille is being planned, then tomorrow morning I have French Classes With The Woman Who Couldn't Care Less. I guess her not caring and the lessons being quite coma-inducing will aid in my exhausted state of Trying To Learn New Things While Hungover.
Wednesday 18 September 2013
Wednesday: Or The Day of Au Pair Slavery
For anyone familiar with the French school system, you will know that Les Enfants get either a whole day or a half day off school on Wenesdays. Luckily for this au pair, my Enfants fall into the Whole Day Off category. AND THEY DON'T EVEN HAVE TO MAKE UP FOR IT ON SATURDAYS.
So my day begins with me setting my ambitious alarm for 7:30 am, getting up panicked and confused at that hour after spending too much time blogging and youtubing the night before, stumbling to my phone, switching it off, turning the light on to wake myself up, and then crumbling back to bed with a vague whimper of just five more minutes.
I then wake to bright sunshine at 8:30 am, fifteen minutes before my scheduled arrival at the breakfast table, curse under my breath, and stumble into the shower. I try to fix my sleep-deprived face and get dressed in something less than Parisian Chic. I make it to the table fifteen minutes late.
La Mere spouts french words 94735847 miles a minute, including instructions for my 11 hour shift and some Very Firm Words with Les Enfants.
I eat my Miel Pops slowly and make a cup of Hard Water UHT Tea. It's grey outside.
I plan a route for how to ake Le Garcon to his dentist appointment and find out it's close to an hour from the house. YAY!
We find the bus stop, get on the bus, and get off at the wrong stop. La Mere calls me asking where I am and I try to explain that we are walking over the Seine on a bridge and I'm not exactly sure where.
I drag Le Garcon along quickly, and he's complaining about my Marche Trop Vite.
We find out we're about fifteen blocks form the dentist with fifteen minutes to go, and I receive another too-fast french phone call with La Mere. She gives up on us and I drag Le Garcon to the dentist, which we finally find. The building is an old apartment, and we stand confused trying to open the gate until an elderly lady lets us in. The elevator is an old number that looks like a bird cage and has a swing-open door as well as the standard slide-closed ones. Glass surrounds the metal cage so we can see the floors pass below us. Inside the dentist office, all traces of antiquity are lost and we sit in the crisp white waiting room complete with French high fashion magazines and city guides, and Le Garcon plays on a computer. It's very white and spacious and weird white tree-trunk-esque decorative poles balance between the floor and ceiling.
The dentist reattaches his loose brace, and we leave. Lunch is frantically made before getting Le Garcon dressed in a Harry Potter costume, tracing a scar on his forehead with my black eyeliner pen, and ushering him out the door, present in hand, witch/wizard hat on, to The Birthday Party.
En route to The Birthday Party, the sky opens up and Le Garcon/Harry Potter gets soaked, along with his cape and hat. I'm soaked too but that's the least of my priorities, because god forbid Le Garcon's costume/Le Garcon himself gets wet.
We make it to the birthday party and I return home to play a board game, make crepes, and do homework with La Fille. She decides she wants some time to play by herself so I get a much-needed sanity break.
GOD I LOVE WEDNESDAYS.
After being chided by La Mere for not tidying the rooms of Les Enfants, getting dinner on the table and cleaning up, I sit here furiously tapping before leaving for a much-needed movie/wine/pizza date with the girls.
GET ME OUTTA HERE GET ME OUTTA HERE GET ME OUTTA HERE in the wise words of Imogen Heap.
At least it's Thursday tomorrow!
Love always,
Coral
So my day begins with me setting my ambitious alarm for 7:30 am, getting up panicked and confused at that hour after spending too much time blogging and youtubing the night before, stumbling to my phone, switching it off, turning the light on to wake myself up, and then crumbling back to bed with a vague whimper of just five more minutes.
I then wake to bright sunshine at 8:30 am, fifteen minutes before my scheduled arrival at the breakfast table, curse under my breath, and stumble into the shower. I try to fix my sleep-deprived face and get dressed in something less than Parisian Chic. I make it to the table fifteen minutes late.
La Mere spouts french words 94735847 miles a minute, including instructions for my 11 hour shift and some Very Firm Words with Les Enfants.
I eat my Miel Pops slowly and make a cup of Hard Water UHT Tea. It's grey outside.
I plan a route for how to ake Le Garcon to his dentist appointment and find out it's close to an hour from the house. YAY!
We find the bus stop, get on the bus, and get off at the wrong stop. La Mere calls me asking where I am and I try to explain that we are walking over the Seine on a bridge and I'm not exactly sure where.
I drag Le Garcon along quickly, and he's complaining about my Marche Trop Vite.
We find out we're about fifteen blocks form the dentist with fifteen minutes to go, and I receive another too-fast french phone call with La Mere. She gives up on us and I drag Le Garcon to the dentist, which we finally find. The building is an old apartment, and we stand confused trying to open the gate until an elderly lady lets us in. The elevator is an old number that looks like a bird cage and has a swing-open door as well as the standard slide-closed ones. Glass surrounds the metal cage so we can see the floors pass below us. Inside the dentist office, all traces of antiquity are lost and we sit in the crisp white waiting room complete with French high fashion magazines and city guides, and Le Garcon plays on a computer. It's very white and spacious and weird white tree-trunk-esque decorative poles balance between the floor and ceiling.
The dentist reattaches his loose brace, and we leave. Lunch is frantically made before getting Le Garcon dressed in a Harry Potter costume, tracing a scar on his forehead with my black eyeliner pen, and ushering him out the door, present in hand, witch/wizard hat on, to The Birthday Party.
En route to The Birthday Party, the sky opens up and Le Garcon/Harry Potter gets soaked, along with his cape and hat. I'm soaked too but that's the least of my priorities, because god forbid Le Garcon's costume/Le Garcon himself gets wet.
We make it to the birthday party and I return home to play a board game, make crepes, and do homework with La Fille. She decides she wants some time to play by herself so I get a much-needed sanity break.
GOD I LOVE WEDNESDAYS.
After being chided by La Mere for not tidying the rooms of Les Enfants, getting dinner on the table and cleaning up, I sit here furiously tapping before leaving for a much-needed movie/wine/pizza date with the girls.
GET ME OUTTA HERE GET ME OUTTA HERE GET ME OUTTA HERE in the wise words of Imogen Heap.
At least it's Thursday tomorrow!
Love always,
Coral
Tuesday 17 September 2013
To-Do For Edinburgh
Planning trips is like creating a pinterest board... I never actually follow through.
Except moving to Paris. I guess I did that.
1. Buy cheap flight. Seriously. Do it now. The prices are rising like multipying bacteria. That was gross.
2. Book Hostel. This one looks promising. http://castlerockedinburgh.com/
3. Book train to London and Eurostar home. Just stomach the prices like a good expat.
4. Research pubs, museums, monuments, shops, and cafes using my very useful Scottish Friend
5. Stay excited and not overwhelmed by the contrast of the amount of money I will be spending versus making
That's all for now. There will be more. I seriously need to do these things. Probably tomorrow.
Love always,
Coral
Except moving to Paris. I guess I did that.
1. Buy cheap flight. Seriously. Do it now. The prices are rising like multipying bacteria. That was gross.
2. Book Hostel. This one looks promising. http://castlerockedinburgh.com/
3. Book train to London and Eurostar home. Just stomach the prices like a good expat.
4. Research pubs, museums, monuments, shops, and cafes using my very useful Scottish Friend
5. Stay excited and not overwhelmed by the contrast of the amount of money I will be spending versus making
That's all for now. There will be more. I seriously need to do these things. Probably tomorrow.
Love always,
Coral
Happy Little Things i.e. Sanity
When one is away from home, and home is defined by a sense of familiarity, belonging, and all those little things that makes one feel at home, one can find comfort in small happy things.
1. Friends. I mean the kind of friends who you instantly click with and who you can have long conversations with into the wee hours of the morning while you crash on their pull-out bed. The ones who make you tea and build you up. The ones who make you feel human. Thank you.
2. Getting mail. Today I received some tea, and not just any tea; my David's Tea, and a card from my mum. I swear that cup of tea felt like I was drinking home itself.
3. On that note, quiet afternoons reading blogs and browsing pinterest and youtube and drinking tea with biscuits and fromage.
4. Familiar songs. I listen to them on the train or when I'm walking or when I need to hear English. Songs have a way of pulling a person right back to the memories made while listening to that song in a car or on a beach or in a house or just sitting with someone you love.
5. Being able to speak a new language. Sometimes I doubt everything about my language skills but sometimes the words roll off my tongue in a delicious mix of throaty Rs and proper verb conjugation. And I feel success.
6. Remembering where you are. I came out of a Scottish pub on Sunday night and looked around at the Parisian streets in the Les Halles area and there was a creperie across the street and all of a sudden it hit me. I'm in Paris right now. It's moments like that that make you remember how amazing the things are that you're doing.
7. Building a home. Whatever that means to you. I covered my walls with familiar faces and happy things and piled books and records around me because they remind me of things that make me happy. And I was out all weekend and I felt homesick, just the tiniest bit, for my little home I had created for myself. Of course it is a temporary home, and it will never replace the original, but it is now a home in some sense of the word. I feel like I belong here, on this bed, surrounded by these things. Even just for now.
This list is incomplete of course and I will keep posting things that make me happy when they come to me because I find writing about them echoes the feeling they give.
I hope you're all happy. :)
Love always,
Coral
1. Friends. I mean the kind of friends who you instantly click with and who you can have long conversations with into the wee hours of the morning while you crash on their pull-out bed. The ones who make you tea and build you up. The ones who make you feel human. Thank you.
2. Getting mail. Today I received some tea, and not just any tea; my David's Tea, and a card from my mum. I swear that cup of tea felt like I was drinking home itself.
3. On that note, quiet afternoons reading blogs and browsing pinterest and youtube and drinking tea with biscuits and fromage.
4. Familiar songs. I listen to them on the train or when I'm walking or when I need to hear English. Songs have a way of pulling a person right back to the memories made while listening to that song in a car or on a beach or in a house or just sitting with someone you love.
5. Being able to speak a new language. Sometimes I doubt everything about my language skills but sometimes the words roll off my tongue in a delicious mix of throaty Rs and proper verb conjugation. And I feel success.
6. Remembering where you are. I came out of a Scottish pub on Sunday night and looked around at the Parisian streets in the Les Halles area and there was a creperie across the street and all of a sudden it hit me. I'm in Paris right now. It's moments like that that make you remember how amazing the things are that you're doing.
7. Building a home. Whatever that means to you. I covered my walls with familiar faces and happy things and piled books and records around me because they remind me of things that make me happy. And I was out all weekend and I felt homesick, just the tiniest bit, for my little home I had created for myself. Of course it is a temporary home, and it will never replace the original, but it is now a home in some sense of the word. I feel like I belong here, on this bed, surrounded by these things. Even just for now.
This list is incomplete of course and I will keep posting things that make me happy when they come to me because I find writing about them echoes the feeling they give.
I hope you're all happy. :)
Love always,
Coral
Monday 16 September 2013
In Which I Try to Coherently Word Sentences
I am sitting on my bed in my room in my suburban village thinking I should fall asleep because I have to leave the house at the ripe hour of 9 a.m. tomorrow morning to begin the adventure entitled French Lessons (In Paris).
I realize I haven't blogged for a while and after reading some hilarious support-group-esque blogs, I have come to the conclusion that I should resume angrily tapping my fingers at a keyboard as a cathartic pre-sleep exercise in which I expel my body of its negative thoughts and irrational anger/anxiety.
I will begin by briefly going over my experiences of work over the past two weeks. My children are great, I really am lucky. Save for the few and far between scrunched-up-face screeching tantrums, hyper-fast child-french, and long walks with my directionally-challenged nine-year-old, I have enjoyed playing Uno, La Bon Paye (weird French monopoly), and a quintessential parisian game of the girl's where she designs high fashion outfits and pins them to her child-sized mannequin.
The first item on my angst list is LA BANQUE. I have gone into my local bank approximately five times now to open an account. The first time I was greeted by an overweight, old, greying French lady who spoke absolutely no English. She promptly told me I needed a rendez-vous and chided me for not bringing the extortionate amounts of documents prescribed by the bureaucratic French regime. After returning with said documents and dealing with three other employees in my rusty French (none of them spoke ANY English), I was sent away and returned once I had received what I thought were the documents to retrieve my bank card (carte bleu). Bearing in mind, last week and this week's pay was in a cheque. A VERY USEFUL PIECE OF PAPER. So I returned to be told that these were not the correct letters, and that a very secret hedwig-delivered admission to Hogwarts letter would turn up in the mail within the next couple of days with my very secret code that I would hand to them to open my very own chamber of secrets. I'M GETTING PAID 80 EUROS A WEEK HERE PEOPLE. So I received my hedwig letter and walked happily up to the bank, braving the pouring rain, to find out that it's closed on MONDAYS. ARRRGGHHH.
La Banque aside, I have had a lovely weekend in Paris. I will tell you about it because I like to think about positive things when I am doubting my very existence and life decisions.
On Saturday morning, I ventured out with some fellow aupairs to the Techno Parade, or Fifteen-Year-Olds With No Parental Guidance to Speak of Get Drunk and High in the Street Parade. We walked from Place De La Republique to Bastille drinking wine and beer at noon and being pelted with mini bags of Haribo candy while techno music blared and naked people frolicked.
We then had a small incident in a cafe wherein another aupair and I bought three euro baguette sandwiches, tried to rejoin our friend in line for the bathroom, and entered mistakenly into a face off with an angry, drunk, French man.
After returning home for a Skype session, I dragged myself back out to the centre of Paris in the dark, stormy night, quite unwillingly, and met up with some really great people, armed with pink grapefruit flavoured rose wine, to head over to a friend's birthday party. A lot of wine drinking ensued and good times were had by all.
I metro-d to my friend's apartment to save going all the way home at 1:45 a.m. and we chatted into the wee hours of the morning only to be promptly woken at 9 a.m. for brunch in Le Marais with twenty or so other girls.
Brunch was at Le Loir dans La Theiere, and was 21 euros, a quarter of my weekly salary, for the mot delicious breakfast food I have ever tasted. The coffee, the freshly squeezed grapefruit juice, the croissants, the pain au chocolat, the toast, the eggs... and don't even get me started on their pie.
We tried to enter the Grand Palais for the Patrimoine weekend, but were deterred by the 5 hour wait and so sat in a garden and soaked up the fleeting September sun.
Naps were had before our Sunday night venture to The Thistle, a great Scottish pub where good beer, pub quizzes, and genuine Scottish guys abound. Our pub quiz team came second-to-last and won a round of shots for our name: The French Toast Mafia.
After midnight nutella crepes and climbing the winding six stories to my friend's apartment, we collapsed and were once again promptly woken by the dreaded Alarm of Death and I returned home to begin working at 5, or 17h.
All in all, it's almost midnight, and I begin classes tomorrow, so I should probably bid you bonne nuit.
Love always,
Coral
I realize I haven't blogged for a while and after reading some hilarious support-group-esque blogs, I have come to the conclusion that I should resume angrily tapping my fingers at a keyboard as a cathartic pre-sleep exercise in which I expel my body of its negative thoughts and irrational anger/anxiety.
I will begin by briefly going over my experiences of work over the past two weeks. My children are great, I really am lucky. Save for the few and far between scrunched-up-face screeching tantrums, hyper-fast child-french, and long walks with my directionally-challenged nine-year-old, I have enjoyed playing Uno, La Bon Paye (weird French monopoly), and a quintessential parisian game of the girl's where she designs high fashion outfits and pins them to her child-sized mannequin.
The first item on my angst list is LA BANQUE. I have gone into my local bank approximately five times now to open an account. The first time I was greeted by an overweight, old, greying French lady who spoke absolutely no English. She promptly told me I needed a rendez-vous and chided me for not bringing the extortionate amounts of documents prescribed by the bureaucratic French regime. After returning with said documents and dealing with three other employees in my rusty French (none of them spoke ANY English), I was sent away and returned once I had received what I thought were the documents to retrieve my bank card (carte bleu). Bearing in mind, last week and this week's pay was in a cheque. A VERY USEFUL PIECE OF PAPER. So I returned to be told that these were not the correct letters, and that a very secret hedwig-delivered admission to Hogwarts letter would turn up in the mail within the next couple of days with my very secret code that I would hand to them to open my very own chamber of secrets. I'M GETTING PAID 80 EUROS A WEEK HERE PEOPLE. So I received my hedwig letter and walked happily up to the bank, braving the pouring rain, to find out that it's closed on MONDAYS. ARRRGGHHH.
La Banque aside, I have had a lovely weekend in Paris. I will tell you about it because I like to think about positive things when I am doubting my very existence and life decisions.
On Saturday morning, I ventured out with some fellow aupairs to the Techno Parade, or Fifteen-Year-Olds With No Parental Guidance to Speak of Get Drunk and High in the Street Parade. We walked from Place De La Republique to Bastille drinking wine and beer at noon and being pelted with mini bags of Haribo candy while techno music blared and naked people frolicked.
We then had a small incident in a cafe wherein another aupair and I bought three euro baguette sandwiches, tried to rejoin our friend in line for the bathroom, and entered mistakenly into a face off with an angry, drunk, French man.
After returning home for a Skype session, I dragged myself back out to the centre of Paris in the dark, stormy night, quite unwillingly, and met up with some really great people, armed with pink grapefruit flavoured rose wine, to head over to a friend's birthday party. A lot of wine drinking ensued and good times were had by all.
I metro-d to my friend's apartment to save going all the way home at 1:45 a.m. and we chatted into the wee hours of the morning only to be promptly woken at 9 a.m. for brunch in Le Marais with twenty or so other girls.
Brunch was at Le Loir dans La Theiere, and was 21 euros, a quarter of my weekly salary, for the mot delicious breakfast food I have ever tasted. The coffee, the freshly squeezed grapefruit juice, the croissants, the pain au chocolat, the toast, the eggs... and don't even get me started on their pie.
We tried to enter the Grand Palais for the Patrimoine weekend, but were deterred by the 5 hour wait and so sat in a garden and soaked up the fleeting September sun.
Naps were had before our Sunday night venture to The Thistle, a great Scottish pub where good beer, pub quizzes, and genuine Scottish guys abound. Our pub quiz team came second-to-last and won a round of shots for our name: The French Toast Mafia.
After midnight nutella crepes and climbing the winding six stories to my friend's apartment, we collapsed and were once again promptly woken by the dreaded Alarm of Death and I returned home to begin working at 5, or 17h.
All in all, it's almost midnight, and I begin classes tomorrow, so I should probably bid you bonne nuit.
Love always,
Coral
Tuesday 3 September 2013
This Too Shall Pass
This phrase is what I need today.
It goes for all things.
Yes, it's most commonly used for the adverse in life. Tears will pass. Sadness will pass. Heartache will pass. Anger will pass. Situations will pass.
I do repeat that mantra to myself when I remember and when I need to hear it and when I need hope that what I'm feeling isn't forever.
That I have my share of sunrise and darkness is necessary.
That ripping off the bandaid is a part of life and once I am thrown into the deep end I will begin to learn how to swim.
But it also goes for the good things.
Lovers will pass, friends will pass, adventures will pass, good days will pass, years in paris will pass. Everything is fluid, everything is changeable, everything has its end.
So while remembering that bad days will pass, that pain will pass; remember that good things will pass along with each new season of adventures and each new tide of emotions.
This too shall pass.
Whatever you're experiencing, be it good or bad, it will pass. It will end.
I think this is one of the most useful thoughts because it is this multifaceted tool, it not only allows you hope in dark days but the reminder to live in the good ones because they are not forever.
Today isn't a good day. It's not terrible either, but it isn't great.
It happens.
Even in the city of light, darkness happens.
My friend said something to me this morning. He said that there are going to be bad days and good days no matter where you are and who you are with and what you're doing. He said to drop expectations because expectations are bred from the story of one person, that the time of my life may not be where the time of theirs was.
And that's okay.
Life is about exploring, and how will you know where the time of your life is going to happen if you don't explore?
This too shall pass.
Thanks for being the best.
Love always,
Coral
It goes for all things.
Yes, it's most commonly used for the adverse in life. Tears will pass. Sadness will pass. Heartache will pass. Anger will pass. Situations will pass.
I do repeat that mantra to myself when I remember and when I need to hear it and when I need hope that what I'm feeling isn't forever.
That I have my share of sunrise and darkness is necessary.
That ripping off the bandaid is a part of life and once I am thrown into the deep end I will begin to learn how to swim.
But it also goes for the good things.
Lovers will pass, friends will pass, adventures will pass, good days will pass, years in paris will pass. Everything is fluid, everything is changeable, everything has its end.
So while remembering that bad days will pass, that pain will pass; remember that good things will pass along with each new season of adventures and each new tide of emotions.
This too shall pass.
Whatever you're experiencing, be it good or bad, it will pass. It will end.
I think this is one of the most useful thoughts because it is this multifaceted tool, it not only allows you hope in dark days but the reminder to live in the good ones because they are not forever.
Today isn't a good day. It's not terrible either, but it isn't great.
It happens.
Even in the city of light, darkness happens.
My friend said something to me this morning. He said that there are going to be bad days and good days no matter where you are and who you are with and what you're doing. He said to drop expectations because expectations are bred from the story of one person, that the time of my life may not be where the time of theirs was.
And that's okay.
Life is about exploring, and how will you know where the time of your life is going to happen if you don't explore?
This too shall pass.
Thanks for being the best.
Love always,
Coral
Sunday 1 September 2013
Paris Day 2!: The Louvre, Montmartre, and Le Marais
Day two of our Parisian adventures began at the ripe hour of 8:45, when my aupair mom drove me to pick up my mom and brother and drove us to the metro station adjoining with line 1, which stops at some major tourist destinations. The first item on our checklist of only three things (much less daunting than day 1), was the Louvre. We had heard that it is not worthwhile to take on this grandiose museum if you don't have three days, but we decided to take the plunge and see as much of it as we could in around two hours. We started, of course, in the Denon wing of Italian paintings to scout out the Mona Lisa, or La Joconde. After wandering through the wing admiring beautifully carved marble statues (who else is a fan of the way those sculptors made marble look like flowing fabrics?! Crazy.) and huge paintings portraying passion in all its facets: love, war, betrayal, family, birth, etc., we stumbled upon the room that held the infamous painting. It hung unassumingly on a wall, overshadowed by the massive painting on the opposite wall, and quite unknowing of its fame. It was small, smaller than I had imagined such a famous work of art would be. But hey, it was amazing to be there, looking at it.
We parted at the St. Michel metro and I immediately felt a chunk of my heart leaving with them. I was not prepared for the loneliness that comes with being completely alone in a foreign city.
But this will be good for me. It will be good to be alone, to be forcing myself to explore and experience the unknown. It will be good to discover myself along with the city of lights.
I must remember that being lonely is okay. Being alone is okay. Being sad is okay. Missing people is okay.
But I am in the city of light, and the kind of sadness I feel is different. It's bittersweet, but mostly sweet. I know what I'm doing is right, that it is good for me, that it is meaningful. That I am living.
I hope Vancouver is treating you all well.
Love always,
Coral
The underground portion was super cool.
After the Louvre we hopped on the metro and headed to my most anticipated neighbourhood, Montmartre. After going to its namesake cafe in Vancouver and looking at pictures of the area, I had been intrigued by its mystique, its food, its buildings, its people, its hilly landscape with slanting sun and slanting tables. And Sacre-Coeur. Okay, I was really excited.
Our first stop, because of our absolute hunger from looking at old things, was a restaurant. We found one near the metro stop and near the Basilique Sacre-Coeur, so we sat down at a table and the beautifully radiant waitress welcomed us right away. We noticed that it was a partner business with the cafe/brasserie across the street, and our waitress and their waiter were constantly running back and forth between establishments carrying various dishes. There was little vegetarian food on the menu, so I settled for a vegetable soup and my first legal glass of white wine. When she brought the food over complete with fresh baguette bread, I realized my mistake in thinking this would be a light vegetable broth. The soup came with garlic toasted baguette and a pot of cheese, and when sprinkled over the pale yellow creamy soup, it melted to the most beautiful gooey consistency.
After lunch, we headed to Sacre-Coeur. Legs aching and feet blistered from the Eiffel Tower the day before, we opted for the "funiculaire", a little cable car that rose us up to the foot of the building. Its views were comparable to the Eiffel Tower's first floor, a lovely surprise. And the architecture itself surpassed all my expectations.
After seeing that sight, we wandered through the Montmartre streets and found a little touristy street market and two really cute vintage stores. I found some cutoff levis that actually fit and we headed back to the metro.
Our last stop was Le Marais, a beautiful, rich district of white buildings and big windows and beautifully architectured balconies. We wandered through courtyards filled with antique stores and cafes, and little narrow, winding streets that housed a number of small boutiques. We sat down in a cafe for deux cafes aux lait for my mom and I, and a chocolat chaud for my brother. I also caved and got a creme caramel.
After that adventure, we stumbled to a green spot by the Seine where locals seemed to gather, and had naps and looked at the view. It was the epitome of bittersweet, because my mom and brother would soon be getting on a different metro to head back to Gare du Nord to go to London and then back to Vancouver.
We parted at the St. Michel metro and I immediately felt a chunk of my heart leaving with them. I was not prepared for the loneliness that comes with being completely alone in a foreign city.
But this will be good for me. It will be good to be alone, to be forcing myself to explore and experience the unknown. It will be good to discover myself along with the city of lights.
I must remember that being lonely is okay. Being alone is okay. Being sad is okay. Missing people is okay.
But I am in the city of light, and the kind of sadness I feel is different. It's bittersweet, but mostly sweet. I know what I'm doing is right, that it is good for me, that it is meaningful. That I am living.
I hope Vancouver is treating you all well.
Love always,
Coral
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