I know the way to and from the Sorbonne now. I know which RER stops to take and how to get out of the station. Once out of the station, I know 8 possible ways to get to the building where my French class is held - I would find this funny were it not for the likelihood of a student strike completely closing off 1 or more of these routes.
The trip is long from apartment to classroom but I tell myself that I will spend the entire month without listening to my iPod in public should it serve to anyone looking as a further mark of my difference where my appearance and accent have already marked me as "other".
It's actually easier than I thought it would be and I find the trips passing quickly in a blur of French newspapers and mostly-empty early-morning streets. Moments like these I'm tempted to just keep walking, to just keep exploring. Once the city fully wakens and the tourists come out from their complimentary breakfasts to fill all the sidewalks and make the city hollow, I no longer feel the same. There is a hollowness then that settles in the city, that settles in me.
The trip is long from apartment to classroom but I tell myself that I will spend the entire month without listening to my iPod in public should it serve to anyone looking as a further mark of my difference where my appearance and accent have already marked me as "other".
It's actually easier than I thought it would be and I find the trips passing quickly in a blur of French newspapers and mostly-empty early-morning streets. Moments like these I'm tempted to just keep walking, to just keep exploring. Once the city fully wakens and the tourists come out from their complimentary breakfasts to fill all the sidewalks and make the city hollow, I no longer feel the same. There is a hollowness then that settles in the city, that settles in me.
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