Places I once knew

The other day, I revisited my old neighbourhood. Just walking down that familiar street brought memories that had entirely faded from my brain, rushing back with clarity. I remembered small, impossible details like what my friend ordered that time we ate at the café downstairs, the happy conversation I had with the nearby florist, discussing the contents of paté with my Mother when she visited, shopping for a tiny christmas tree with my best friend, the nearby church I had visited when I was at my lowest… I could go on for days.

But instead of making me happy, these memories just made me sad. I spent the rest of the day mulling over why sadness was my first reaction, and I still haven’t quite figured it out.

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Paris Memoirs – Dépaysement

It has been over a year since I first arrived in Paris, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, anticipating the span of five months that, in my fantastical imagination, would be pure bliss. It would be all frolicking, colorful macarons, endless bottles of wine, cornucopias of cheese, and elegant style. I just assumed that I would suddenly transform into one of those chic people you see in photos from Paris fashion week at the Tuileries. Indeed, I certainly did consume countless bottles of wine, but what I didn’t expect was a crippling reality check.

The French word dépaysement in the most general sense describes the condition of being disoriented in an unfamiliar context. At a deeper level, it is used when a person finds themselves far away from their home country, feeling a sense of alienation and longing for home; the word itself contains pays, which is French for country.

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