Autumn of my life in Paris. In less than three weeks I’ll be flying to Asia. This flight will be the only a rehearsal for a more important one that shall take place next year. I’m now reaching a point where I’m seizing the fruit of my past, of all these months and years of self searching, but also where the now isn’t like any ordinary now, because important decisions have to be made. And I made one yesterday. I will be to leave France next year. I’m frightened, scared, yearning and mourning, but I’m being reborn. I cannot go on in this country anymore. My base has to be somewhere else. For now, I have set my future city to be New York. Then it will always be possible to have a secondary home in Paris. But the move has to be made, or I will keep on like this for many more years.
The realization wasn’t a difficult one. The acceptation of the obvious was. But if I had managed in the past to postpone the moment, I know now that there is no turning back.
And anyway, nothing much keeps me here. Yes, my parents. But even they have been saying that I had to go across the seas to succeed in my life.
I seem to work in cycles of seven years. I had remained seven years or so in Montmartre before moving here where I have lived seven years. Now it’s time for a new place. And a new country.