Living and loving in the moment

Argentian Cutie in Paris

I’ve never been to Paris before. My Parisian experience is limited to Truffaut films and stories my girlfriend tells me about the year she lived in Paris in a tiny apartment with her older sister. She was painter. They are both painters, and for a whole year, lived in a 9×9 room, sleeping in the same bed every night. Her sister is 15 years older than she is, yet most men thought they were identical twins.

Since studying in Paris and living with her sister, she, pictured above, has been slaving away for the man in New York City (an art auction house), while oing her best to paint as often as possible in her Brooklyn apartment. It’s hard. And she is often uninspired by the city, its dregs and derelicts. The corner of her room is tacked with photos and old postcards and stamps she collected while in Paris. They are her only inspiration. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen her as happy as she is when recounting long afternoons in Paris with her sister, taking the city of lights in with every little breath. It even makes me feel good, so much so that I want to take her back, so she can relive the majesty.

Not All Who Wander Are Lost

I am not from Paris; I often feel like I am from nowhere. I first flew out of my birth state when I was six months old. Since then I have moved nearly every three years, living abroad in both Europe and Asia and seven different states from the east coast, west coast, and as far flung as Hawaii.

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Having no roots has made me feel as free as a bird. I wander from one corner of the earth to another; adapting myself to my surroundings and eagerly experiencing all each new home has to offer. When the time comes to move again, I go forward without backward glances and without regrets.

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Will Paris adopt me? I hope so, for I will always be free, feminine, and ready to embrace life…