a week in Paris
Paris again? I think I'm in Paris. I've been here before. I didn't make it up. It wasn't a dream. I lived here, near Gobelins. I'm remembering it now. Morning walks the same as in Brooklyn, but it was through tended gardens– how people can care so much, even for the fruit on the trees. Sometimes it surprises me. That people can care so much and so little at once makes my head spin.
Visiting my childhood bedroom was also visiting Paris, staying with a friend of a friend and a fellow academic because we're boycotting that other thing and who can afford hotels anymore? If I'm in Paris, I'll play the game of not speaking the language, pretending I don't understand and it's culture shock. It isn't, none of this is shocking and I do understand, much more than I let on. Learning French wasn't as challenging as learning Luxembourgish and nothing like learning the light languages. Are they languages or are they codes? Are they just intentions? Transmissions? People saying to me that light language is just gibberish the same as no one believing Luxembourg is a country with its own language. When I tell them I'm learning Luxembourgish, they respond oh, you mean German? / Nee, Lëtzebuergesch.
Staying with a friend or a friend of a friend meant performing to social expectations. I really want to be a person here, to act like people act, to be charming and kind, generous, loving. What has to happen for that to happen? As a guest, I want to not take up too much space or demand too much energy from my hosts so even though I wanted to rest after the long trip, I wandered out alone into the city. No maps, no devices, just following where the energy led me. Meaning– I got lost. Wandering unknown streets without any real skill with the language, unable to read signs or communicate– seems like this happens to me all the time, my whole life has been confusion. I can understand what people are saying, but I can't speak well enough to make myself understood.
Hopefully no one will bother me, just let me wander without singling me out for attack. I don't display wealth– not the kind people want for themselves– and hopefully the sagging skin and unruly grey hair along with menopausal weight gain will shield me from physical interest and assault. It can be scary to wander without the confidence familiarity brings: knowing a place and being known, belonging. Operating outside of networks has always kind of been my thing though, I'm attuned to navigating in that way. Feels like senses are heightened, I feel more alive, but maybe it's just paranoia kicking in, the beginning of a manic episode.
Maybe I'm just looking for problems where none exist. Maybe people aren't staring and pointing at me, following me through the streets. Did I make all that up? Like I swear I already posted the unboxing video as requested by the publisher. I made a point of it because it was something I really didn't want to do. I made sure to get it over with, and when I checked in the middle of the night, the post was gone. Like it never existed. I know it did because I had to edit the thing, add captions and keywords. I made sure to tag a few friends as well as the publisher for accountability and then it was just gone. Nowhere in my grid, nowhere in my stories like it never even happened. But it did. I know it did. I even found some messages and comments about it. So what happened? You tell me. Was it taken down deliberately? Am I being targeted? Is there some nefarious plan out there to keep people from liking and sharing?