It’s been a while since I’ve written, but my brain has been mush and hollow. What else did I expect?
I wrapped up the life I knew and now attempting to start a new one. In a different language I left behind 12 years ago. In a place where I knew less than five people. If I wrote anything down in the past 6 weeks it was in all-caps in my journal and always ended with “EVERYTHING IS FINE".”
But let’s not get into it that (maybe another day, we’ll see).
I’m here to talk about my day today.
I got off the RER A train at Neuilly Plaisance, a suburb of Paris about 15-20 minutes outside the city center, and started my 13-minute walk over to my cousin’s friend’s house. A noodle counter sat next to a Turkish eatery next to a grocery store with no name. Familiar smells filled the air: kabob? cumin? curry? All of the above made me hungry and nostalgic. As I walked into the guest house my new Iranian friend was renting from an 85-year-old landlord upstairs, the smells and sounds coming from her kitchen amplified my nostalgia. Over a coffee latté (with milk boiled on the stove just like my grandma in Iran would make it) we chatted in Farsi about our separate Parisian lives.
We talked about family and food, LA and Tehran, Paris and Europe. For lunch she had made a full spread, which shouldn’t have surprised me— this is how Iranians do hospitality. Ghormeh sabzi and rice, potato kotlet, and a colorful salad plated just the way my aunts would. And it wouldn’t be a Persian meal without a cool cup of soda!
I don’t have Iranian friends to speak Farsi with, so this was really cool. To speak about cultural differences and similarities, identity and geography, art and science, all in a language I normally reserve for family matters (merci for the kabob, baba!) reminded me why I’m here right now. To use languages and food to connect. Understand how identity is shaped and morphed. To try new things, be around new people, and be someone new myself.
After lunch, we took the train one stop to Vincennes and headed straight into the park. The Bois de Vincennes is the largest park in Paris starting at its most eastern edge and sprawling all the way to the suburb that took its name. Life here happens outside of the house, and the park was full of families running after their kids on scooters, people drinking wine at picnics, people reading (everywhere, always) athletes, and lovers. You can rent canoes on the river or grab a coffee at the bar (every park has at least one bar). And all this is just one short train or bus ride from the city!
Everything is still strange, but what else did I expect? In due time, things will feel real. For now, my brain is mush and hollow.
Here’s a song I’ve had on repeat:
ps: I’m headed to Italy this Thursday. It’s been 4.5 years, and I’m so excited to go back to the region where I left a piece of my soul. Will it still be hanging around there? Or was it all in my head? Vediamo. We’ll see!
I need to hit up that park next time, and rent a canoe for an hour or two. PS what's your favorite reading material out there for yourself, besides rental agreements of course?