#3—more than plain stillness

The soft female voice of the XX sings from my Crosley. It’s a little scratchy, yet comforting as two bodies lay in bed. We are so still; we wouldn’t scare off a deer. And we are so close. The next songs plays on and we are so still. Listening, breathing and thinking about nothing. We are like stones; the world is like water, always moving so fast. My eyes flutter open and I look over at Him. His eyelids are closed like He is asleep, but I know He can hear the music. He doesn’t open then and I just stare. Because in that instant, I think I love Him. But then it vanishes, and my eyes close again. And I am enraptured in the instance, my thoughts and the warmth of His body.

The last song on Side A ends and I get up quietly and flip the record over. He doesn’t move. The music doesn’t stop for Him. And we relive the moment all over again. In my apartment where 4 other people roam around in. We are still and we can be still. It’s unusual to just be still and reflect or think about absolutely nothing. This moment was the epitome of my being. These are the moments I imagine and always crave. A happenstance that lasted longer than a moment; a string of moments. And the only thing I wonder —is if He had the same thoughts.

#2—the moment calmness came

The sun warms my back. My eyes melt into a sea of blue and white marshmallows. No, I’m not high. I’m just touching life with its bare hands. square-shaped trees surround me and grass tickles my legs. I’m in park in the south of Paris. Jason and I had just picked up a lunch from the nearby market. And now our stomachs are full and we are laying in the sun with the rest of the Parisiennes. It’s magical. I’m trying to remember what my life was like before these moments. Before this one. I close my eyes and I’m stricken with forgetfulness. And I’m OK with it. Truly.

So far, I’ve only had few people that have touched my life. That have truly discovered me and scratched my inner self. They have made me vulnerable, yet strong. One of those people was one who I laid with in the grass that day.

This feeling, from Paris. It’s indescribable. It shaped me. Evolved me. And all I can do for it right now, considering my life circumstances, is to give life in words to the moments I cherished the most. I feel indebted to Paris forever. It’s a home I can always turn to — when things aren’t easy here. And when times are hard — and the Paris feeling leaves me for a day —I crave it and try desperately to retrieve it. The calm heart, the calm mind. The sense of peace in everything. I don’t want to go back to me before Paris. It’s terrifying me. It’s the battlefield-of-the-mind-me. It’s treacherous territory.

And as my memories become a distinct reality, so natural and real that I can remember the way everything felt. Everything. was. wonderful. and. so. authentic. If I had a sixth sense, this might be it. Now, I’m strolling down the streets near Saint Germain. Headphones are in my ears and I’m watching, observing the people and wishing this was my life. I thought, I belong here. Even though I’m not from here. I find the coffee shop I have been looking for. The one I have read in books and reviews. Ernest Hemingway’s most-beloved coffee shop. Ah, the ghost of him around me is suffocating, but in a wonderful way. I sit down alone and order a espresso. And I write that I’m here. And that this moment will never leave me. I’m here. I’m here. It’s so magical here.

#1

I was taking a shower today and listening to Coldplay playing from my record player. As I wrapped a towel around my body, I stopped and just stared blankly. Only I wasn’t thinking about just nothing. I was thinking about that metro ride in Paris. My headphones in my ears and I was people watching. Going to school, learning a new language, a new culture. I remember walking through the metro with the soundtrack to my life blaring as I took steps further to the top where the city lay.

It’s a weird thing. When I think of my time in Paris, I mostly think about the metro. Its simplicity. It’s dirty cars, masses of people and homeless people with no legs begging for money. I’m pretty sure I spent as much time on underground the City of Light as I did walking its streets. And the times on the metro with new friends — friends from school and friends who spoke French fluently — was a time I will never forget. We were hazy and drunk from the mojitos and we were on to our next destination. I felt the closeness of him. His face inches from mine and the captivating spell that takes you over when you stay in Paris long enough.

It was, in fact, a dream of eternal happiness. Amid the cultural differences and struggles of missing home, I learned to embrace the peculiar. And on my last night, tears were flooding my eyes as I sat next to my new best friend. Our heads touched as the car jolted us from side to side. We spoke of our sadness and happiness, intertwined like never before. And we knew forever that we truly touched — or scratched — a surface of this world. We dangled our feet above the Seine, we walked on tightropes and danced until our bodies ached. We lived. And then the metro stopped. And it was time to recede from our moments and carry them with us for eternity.

The here and now, the distant future

*Moments, they are glimpses of life that flash so fast past our eyes, that we have to take a moment and reflect on the times that happened so quick that made us who we are.

While we have a mixture of good and bad moments, the good must override the bad. What else do we have in this world without the moments that filled us with joy, peace, happiness, laughter, community and love?

And the worst situations—ones that make us tear up, yell at someone or make us not want to live another day—we somehow crawl out of our hole hopelessness and find the good. In no particular order, these are my good moments and the good moments that are yet to come.