Sunday July 24, 5:55 am, On Leaving

I was glad to leave Paris. Not because I didn't enjoy myself or think it was beautiful or appreciate its rich history – it was the best experience of my life. I was glad to leave because for me, Paris is a fantasy, separate from any reality I could fit into. It seems to be among the group of select places that fit their stereotype (New York with its bustling avenues and dog shit in the way of being stepped on, palm trees and superficiality in Los Angeles). There indeed were people riding bikes with things in their baskets, perfect dogs, slinky shoulders and cigarette puffs, and a spoiled abundance of croissants, baguettes, and red wine. Perhaps I have read too much Orwell, but I find it almost impossible to separate my observations from my preconceived notions about Paris. It is tangible in this way, its current culture in plain sight. But it's inaccessible without having been born into it. I found it charming and traditional, but could not see a place for me in it. Everything I experienced put a smile on my face – how is that real? Perhaps in one world, that world, but that is not my own.

On one of the first days I was told what a typical day in Paris was like: around 7 or 8 in the morning, go to your local tabac to pick up the day's newspaper and take it to a café to read while drinking your morning expresso but sit at the bar, not a table, so that you can talk to new people and then breakfast is at 10 – oh, and if you miss lunch hour (12:30-1:30) then that's just... just don't. The permanence of Paris is what draws so many people, artists and tourists alike. But that permanence is what makes it unlivable for me. A city which breathes and flows is full of possibility. A city with a layout understood through the shape of a snail is not.

My weeks spent in Paris were the most formative of my young adult life. I came more into myself (or out of), and solidified my love for writing. My professors Darin Strauss and Zadie Smith were supportive and my friends made the visit one I will always remember. But that's all Paris can ever be for me: a visit, with its twinkling lights and delicious history. Maybe that's the best part about Paris, too, though. It will always be there.