I haven't written in awhile. I'm sorry. A lot has happened. A lot of sex, a lot of Pierre and I getting closer, a lot of summer in Paris, a lot of change. I haven't been able to solely focus on writing and inspiration.
Currently I am in California. I came for three weeks to visit my family. I have made a lot of discoveries since being home. Being 22 is hard. That's for sure. Currently I don't have an apartment in Paris, I quit my job, my visa is expiring and I lost my metro pass.
Living in Paris is not all croissants and French kissing. It's fucking stressful. And I realised that I'm not actually that happy when I'm there. Not because anything is wrong with me, or Paris, but because I'm trying to be someone that I'm just fucking not. I like being loud, I like sleeping, I like wearing minimal clothing, I like complimenting and smiling at random people, I like dancing in public. Parisians like to look like they hate you and smoke cigarettes and wear all black and be really skinny. SURE NOT ALL PARISIANS, but after two years living there, this is the impression I have. There isn't much diversity, and there is definitely a way to be Parisian.
I know tons of people who live there and are happier than hell. They love it, they never wanna leave. But when I come back to California, all of a sudden I feel good about myself, I feel free, I feel inspired, I feel like a huge weight has been lifted from me. This could be normal for anyone who's chosen to live in a foreign country, and in a big fucking famous city for that matter. But there are things about Paris, and who I am there, that I don't really like.
When I'm in Paris I have body issues and confidence issues. I feel too big and I feel too American. I try to be more French, I try to like the things French people like but it's tiring. There is always some trendy event or some new style or some new mother-fucking thing you have to go to or buy.
I am a CALIFORNIA girl. And after leaving and coming back I am shocked how beautiful it is here. I love the blue skies and the open streets and the huge fucking blue ocean that spreads itself all along the coast of PCH. I love the sand on my body as I drive home from the beach with the windows down. I love that people want to talk to you and smile at you and compliment you and be your friend. It's not a competition for who can look the most bitchy on the metro.
Some people will probably read this and totally disagree, and that's okay, that's their truth. But I miss nature and mountains and cold brew coffee when I'm in Paris, and right now I don't want to go back, and that's okay too.
At home I wear my hair up and all messy with red lipstick and high waisted this and that with chunky boots and a tiny ass shirt and people aren't looking at me like I am a harlot who will steal their boyfriend. (Parisian women-- what's up with the misogyny??? Life is hard enough as it is for women, without women hating women).
And I come back to California and people are soooo impressed by me and think I am so cool. Thank you, that is so kind. But living in Paris is not a walk in the park, it's messy and complicated. I feel after two years in Paris I'm more cranky and stuck up. I don't want those qualities.
I want to love myself, love my body. And here I do, I really do.
And now it's like, fan-fucking-tastic, because my life and my lifestyle, and my love, are all in Paris.
What do you do when you're super fucking in love and eventually you will probably be separated by continents? Neither Pierre nor I are the marriage type people, so is that it? Fuck.
No apartment, no visa, and the possibility of maybe not being with the man who I love, whom things are so good with, whom the sex gets better EVERY DAMN DAY.
I am so happy here, the opportunities seem endless in California, in America. But that's not where I am, that's not where I've been for the last two years.
And sure, now I know a lot about good wine cheese and bread and I can speak French like a senior in Advanced French 4, but who the fuck am I?
I still feel most myself in overalls in my car singing Miley Cyrus. I want to swim in bodies of water and eat tacos and be tan. I don't want to live in Paris anymore. It's tiny and people are sad.
I don't know, fuck, for two years I loved it and my opinion could change tomorrow. For a long time I loved Paris and hated California.
What will I do with my life? Where will I move? How will I continue to love myself and those around me and honour this beautiful life?
I will remember this feeling. This feeling I have in California. Of loving my body, of genuinely loving who I am. And when I go back to Paris I will be PROUD of who I am. No more hiding behind French clothes and speaking quietly. I will be myself. American, blonde, funny, curvy, unapologetic.
Someone who can start a fire and camp anywhere you put me.
Someone who can cook better than most 22 year olds.
Someone who fucking loves sex.
Someone who wears crops tops and no bra, and DOESN'T DO THAT FOR MEN.
Someone who loves to talk with new people, and worships the friends I already have.
Someone who doesn't have a lot of money, but makes the most of it.
Someone in love, and terrified.
Someone who writes a mother-fucking sex blog.
Someone who loves the word fuck.
Someone who is DONE apologising for being American.
Someone who is at heart an Orange County girl, who loves ice coffee and swimming in the ocean.
Someone who loves her body and perky tits.
Someone who loves to travel and can't commit to anything.
Someone who will choose happiness and love.
I hope you do the same.