Back to black

Dear reader, As you can see very well for yourself, i only write on this blog only when i’m in love or when i miss my special friends…Sometimes, like, right now, i think it’s unfair to do that. So, for my own pleasure and your pleasure as well I shall continue to write even if theoretically, I’m not allowed to be in love no more and I’ve already seen one of my special friends recently. Starting from now on, I’ll write about me myself and I and my life here in Paris. Lots of you are envying me for living in such a beautiful city, for having accomplished my childhood dreams, but all I have to say is that this had took me lot of time, work, patience and tons of sacrifices and compromises. I wake up every morning and put my French make up and personality on, smoke a cigarette and go to work. It’s life’s big cliché which takes place in Paris, the land of my merry dreams. As days pass by, my Romanian conscience, principles, language and all which comes with it fade away and sometimes I can’t even notice it. Life goes on, we move on and that’s how it goes. I’m getting all emotional and nostalgic especially during the winter holidays and I remember my life back home…when I was younger and I miss those times. I miss the snow, I miss the smell of it, I miss the cold and the wind, I miss the smell of Christmas trees, I miss my family and my friends and it gets harder to keep the French smile always on. But in the end I manage to deal with it. I find beauty and happiness in all of the stuff which surround me right here. I find comfort in my tiny apartment where I have books everywhere and brand new shoes in my closet and of course, at work. I’ve always dreamed to see Paris and the Seine and cross it’s numerous bridges…well, now I’m working at an office right on the banks of this fucking river. What could I wish more? I see the Seine every morning and I cross it’s bridges with a cup of starbucks coffee in my hand… My life’s better here from so many points of view, but…it’s not home. That’s for sure. I’ll never forget my old Romanian house, my garden and my roses. I’ll always keep them a special somewhere in my heart and that’s what makes me different and special in this French world which I hardly understand. They all seem cold and fake, male or female, young or old…and they’re always smiling God damn it and they never get tired of going out and enjoy themselves every fucking evening of the week. And for a beginner like me seems exhausting even if it has been more than 2 years since I’m doing the same stuff as they do. The metro boulot dodo never stops there… It’s always a coffee in the afternoon, the apero in the late afternoon and the after work cocktails which get in between some way or another. And the smiles, all those fake smiles and fake politeness which sometimes pisses me off but once you get into their game, you cannot get out. And you play it till the end. Till the fakeness gets to you and you’re not able no more to distinguish the good from the wrong, the good guys from the bad guys, the true friends from the fake friends. And you find yourself in the middle of this daily fake tornado of people. This is the real French life. But they have pretty good cheese and good wine, you know, and all those luxurious shops and stuff where you can buy yourself some happiness whenever you wish so, yeah, in the end, you end up by loving this. As for your social life, it has never been richer than this. You make yourself new friends at every corner coffee shop, in the metro, in the pubs, in the restaurants, at college, at work, everywhere. This is how it all goes. But the only problem is that you can hardly find someone who could really give a shit ‘bout your own ass. Never seen a people more selfish than this one, guys. I do respect that but still, it’s hard to deal with it all when you know that in the huge amount of friends which you’ve earned through this two years and somethin’ you know that there’s only one person you can count on. And no, that’s not a guy, it’s a girl. Guys…especially French guys, well, frankly, they all come and go. Young, old, mature, immature, smart, weird, stupid, polite or big fucking bastards, they all come and go and never stay more than 6 or 7 months. Seems to me that they all have an expiry date you know, like the credit cards… And when you’re a blue eyed girl, I assure you that in 2 years you can see lots of them coming and going in and out of your life. In the end, you find yourself burying a lot of them ex’s , some weirder than others, some smarter than others, some richer than others, single or married or expecting to have a child…the examples never stop. But one thing is for sure, none of them stays at your side more than 7 months. Even if they start talking ‘bout children, even if they whisper at your ear in the morning the famous “te iubesc” in your mother tongue and that fills you with love and hope and stuff… But, in the same time, as a Romanian living here in France you always tell yourself that it doesn’t worth it to find yourself another Romanian guy, especially when you’ve already been disgusted by that specie…and you keep on screwing and getting screwed by the French. And it all ends the same screwed up way. And this is how you gain experience, my friend, this is how you become more French than the French, more selfish than you’ve ever expected. Welcome to my world !