A month ago I was “French fried frites, yo.” Ready for some dollar menu, to see my college friends again, to speak fluently everywhere, to comprehend television in my sleep. All I wanted was America.
But here I am. Back one month, and all I want is France. Maybe it’s melodramatic of me, but I think I miss the freedom most. I miss being anonymous, blending in. I miss the feeling that my every action would not set off some reaction that would eventually get back to everyone I knew. It’s not that I was running around making a fool of myself, but I reveled in that traveler’s bliss of being here one day, gone the next, remembered or forgotten inconsequentially. Read the rest of this entry »