The Transition Artist

I can’t stop smiling. It’s past 8pm and the sun still hasn’t set, the birds are still out chirping, and all I see out the window of my little apartment is green. Green on the trees, green spattering the ground, even a little green growing on the buildings. My suitcase stares at me ominously from the ground, reminding me that I have left my packing for the last minute again, but I can’t seem to drag myself away from this window.

I realize all over again how beautiful Paris is when it comes back to life, and catch myself already dreaming about coming back to it again when the city is in full bloom later this month. My mind drifts from one spring to another, simultaneously thrilled for the spring blooms of the trees in the parks in Paris and the cherry blossoms that await in Japan.

I remember fondly the memories that I made when the sun came back out in Paris last year. I treasure those days that I tossed a book, my journal, and a blanket into my little beat up green backpack and set out on foot to the nearest park, grabbing a rental bike when necessary and tossing my things into the little basket up front. Those were some of the best moments of my life here. It got warm enough to wear shorts, a little too hot to eat more than a fresh salad, and more often than not I found myself out on the terrace of some cafe, marveling at French parents out with their beautiful, white-clad, well-behaved children. I remember vividly the feeling of the light goosebumps that the slightest gust of wind rose on my skin, and the taste of the crisp rosé that was appropriate to order as soon as it got just hot enough to break a light sweat (which some days was even before noon).

The sunlight begins to fade, and I dream longingly of the cool nights when dusk didn’t roll around until 10pm and I wandered the streets by myself while the sun set. In those moments I drank in every last gulp of life that the city had to offer. I am still standing in front of Sacré Coeur, as much a part of the landscape as the men with the selfie sticks, and so lost in the distant lights of the city that the men selling beer don’t even bother to ask if I want one. I stood there for what must’ve been an hour one night, inhaling the smoke of my neighbors, relishing every crisp brush of air that came my way; simply in awe of the city. The deep sense of attachment and identity that I found in this city felt deeper that night, intoxicating even. I stood frozen there and lost all sense of time and space, even as the warm breezes began getting cold and the couples on either side of me explored each others tonsils with a little more intensity; all I could focus on was the heavy pulse of love that beat through me as I looked out over my city.

As I ease out of my daydream, I can feel my heart slowing down and the heady feeling of reliving those memories begin to dissipate. It’s dark now, but I’m smiling still. I’m leaving for a new adventure tomorrow, one so different from any others that I can’t even imagine it just yet. Though I still haven’t packed my bags, nor even checked the weather for Hong Kong and Japan, the dream destinations I’ll finally cross off my travel list starting tomorrow, I can already feel the warmth of joy that falling in love with a new place brings. Once again, I find myself stumbling somewhat unprepared and bleary eyed from one adventure right into the next one, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.