I quit my job at the end of July. I moved to Paris ten days ago. I’m pursuing a masters degree centred around the business of fashion. I feel like I’m in an uneasy truce, both with myself and with this city. So far, I like Paris a lot. I wonder if it will like me back.
Back in the Before Times, a great source of enjoyment was travelling to a new city and exploring its streets in pursuit of the delicious. But the thing that I’ve maintained, as a salve to my own restlessness, is that vacationing is a state of mind, baby! Life is a vacation if you avoid all responsibilities and spend money frivolously and don’t worry about other people’s well-being!
I’m always tired. Being a leech on society is hard work. But after those first few sips of coffee hit the bloodstream, I’m revved up and ready to go. At once, it’s like I’m cruising down Rainbow Road, glittery with star power as the greatest soundtrack of all time propels me forward.
When I was younger, I associated being Chinese with never eating McDonald's, never buying things full price, and never getting to eat with other kids during lunch because my dumplings smelled like a fart. As a result, I struggled with my identity for years. But after eating a feast consisting of lobster, pork belly, chicken, asparagus, noodles, salmon and spending years trying to get over my internalized racism, I can say that being Chinese is pretty awesome.
With one of us just in Calgary for a co-op term and the other working a meagre part-time job, the both of us currently still live at home. While it comes with its disadvantages (lack of privacy, parents constantly asking what you're doing with your life, etc.), there is one very great advantage that almost makes it all worth it: our mom's cooking.
