I've returned to Paris many times, especially when I lived in England. Leaving Gare du Nord on the Eurostar to cross the Channel into London, I watched the dark, northern landscape of the city disappear. I saw the illuminated Sacré Coeur in the distance, waving goodbye. I saw the rundown hotels disappear too; one of them was probably where I stayed once when I was coming from London with the girlfriend at the time.
But the memories that stood out most on this brief trip belong to the first time I came to Paris. It was my second trip to Europe. It was the summer ending my sophomore year, there I waited in the French capital for my college girlfriend who had just broken up with me to be with this other guy. It was at times a little awkward, I mean, we were sharing the same bed though nothing weird happened. It was nonetheless difficult. Looking back I realized I had already put myself in such awkward situation early on. That was 1995, June.... More than 16 years ago. I was there. She took me to see all the different places, showed me tricks on saving money, saving time, being a good Romanian used to circumventing "the system".
I went to a lot of places she had taken me. Some places I had revisited a few times since then. Some, like the Musée de Rodin, I had not been back since. I remember taking a picture of her next to the famous "The Kiss" sculpture. I remember, in my head, we were standing in front of the "Gate of Hell", Rodin's rendition of Dante's "Inferno". There were more flowers and the trees had more leaves that summer; now it was cold and the trees were stripped of their grandeur by the recurring winter. And, of course, I was alone.
But life wasn't so different. I was in a similar situation, in that I was involved with a woman who had a boyfriend. Difference is that she is making her decision on what to do next. And I was kept in suspense throughout my trip in the French capital. If she decides to be with me, then good chance that I will be returning to Paris many times as she intends on moving back to Switzerland, or Europe, at least. That was on my mind, too. A future with her, if she so chooses.
I didn't do much site-seeing. I went to touristy places, but not snapping pictures at the oft-snapped sites. I went to Montmartre, recalling the "Fabulous Tale" of Amélie (that's the approximate translation of the original French title). Some people's love stories are simple. Mine, for some reason, has to be incredibly complicated. I don't choose simple people, simple situations, or life decides that I deserve something more than the simple mundane thread existence.
I also went walking around Quartier Latin with another old friend who had been living in France for a while. This area also helps me recall the first trip in Paris. It's where I had cheap canteen food at a university cafeteria. The friend this time also happened to be Romanian. We met on a train in Romania, and we don't write to each other more than once a year, but we're close. Still, I know she likes me still, after all these years, since that train ride to a German-speaking Romanian town in 1999, I know she likes me, and we know I never felt the same way. Nothing weird happened between us, but with her I know how it feels to be unable to return love. At the end of the afternoon walks, she had to return to her city of Reims. From the TGV train she repeatedly asked me to come back with her, visit her place, her life there. She knew I was madly in love with a woman who would either bring me heavenly joy or abysmal dejection, but still, she begged me to go back with her, assuring me that there were two beds. I had visited her once in her native town in Romania back when I was living in England. I never stayed overnight, but I saw her small, sad-looking apartment in a sad-looking Communist style building. And when it was my time to board the train to leave her town, she kissed me. I felt very sad for her. She is the total opposite of me: expecting nothing complicated, nothing serious, from life. It doesn't mean she doesn't get into complicated situations, but we are too different; I seek adventures in the world, no matter the cost; she is happy being in one little, quiet place, being a surgeon.
The major difference between this trip to Paris and the other trips is that I danced a lot of tango. Four nights out of five. I tried dancing last time I was here, but I was still not confident enough. This time I was more open-minded and more confident. I had a good time. I was also curious what I was getting myself into, in terms of tango, at least, if I do move back to Europe. It's not as fantastic as New York, but still.
Tango or no tango, I found the love of my life, in the most complicated, tangled web I can imagine my life to get into (I guess at least she's not married with children). This suspense of not knowing what her decision process is like, not knowing the final result, drives me crazy. I try not to think about it. I try to assume the worst. After all, she is going on a New Year's trip to Hawaii with her boyfriend. I don't quite understand what that means, why she decided to do that. At the same time, she is writing me poems everyday, and the two times we actually chatted, she reminded me how much she missed me.
She will decide soon, it's just me having to cope with the unknown. It's better if I can just not think about it and enjoy my time here, and I am enjoying my time. Paris I felt in love with the city again, as always. Today's my first day in London and I met up with another old friend (this one there is not an iota of drama with). Now I am in a cafe with bad hot chocolate, waiting for my best friend to come back from her work. I don't know what we will do, but we will see. She knows about my tangled web of events, and she, being very emotional of a Spaniard, is all confused and frustrated and happy. She doesn't want me to be hurt again, of course.
But as I told her, whatever happens, I am blessed with one thing: for the first time, the woman I am crazy about is crazy about me. And I know how that feels for me. And, from now on, I won't settle. Before her I always had to work very hard trying to convince the girl to give me the same attention back. And it never worked, often backfired. Part of the problem is what my friends always told me (and many of these "friends" were actually the very same girls before becoming friends): I need to know I deserve better; I need to believe I am damn good. For the first time in my life, I realized, yes, I am really that good; I don't need to go running after every breadcrumb that comes my way just because she's beautiful. Dignity in myself. As another friend told me, let the girls come to me.
I used to have as my signature a quote from a Portuguese writer: Take care of your garden and the butterflies will come to you. I always ran after girls trying to prove I have a lot to offer, when I didn't have to do that; I already had a lot to offer. Their failure to see my beauty is not my problem. Having met a girl who absolutely adores me makes me see what it feels like to be myself while still being in love. Being in love doesn't mean I have to work so much.
I have one more week left before going back to reality, and by then, hopefully, a decision is made. But what I really should do is not think about that decision. It's her decision, not mine. I have already decided on spending my life with her. It's time to move on.
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