When Soul Meets Body

These past few weeks have been a long consistent headache, but finally the Paracetamol kicked in and everything is falling into place. We’re moving to Paris.


Julien arrived the other day, struggling down the hall, rousing me from my sprawled-on-the-bed-can’t-move-because-of-the-heat half-vegetative state, he had in his arms…

“Boxes!!!” I cried happily. “Excellent! Are they big enough?” I started folding one up.

“Hello to you too,” he said. “I hope we still have bubble wrap. If you didn’t pop them all.” (I popped them all.)

But anyway, Boxes are Good. Boxes mean that we are moving. Boxes mean not staying put. And most importantly, boxes mean change. And if you have boxes at home but aren’t really moving house anytime soon, you can sit in them and pretend it’s a spaceship! It’s fun, and I’m 27 years old.


Whenever I tell people we’re moving to Paris, I get sympathetic looks, gentle tsk tsk tsk tongue-clucking noises, and worried shoulder pats. I know I’ll miss certain things about Aix-en-Provence: the great weather, the laid-back lifestyle, Cinema Mazarin with the art flicks in Version Originale. Or that bar along Cours Mirabeau that serves gigantic chilled glasses of iced tea (bigger than the biggest Nescafe café garapon). Even the madness of spending an hour trying to find a parking spot on a Saturday afternoon, and those “Manhattan’s HotDog – New York-style Hotdog!” stands that one can find everywhere. And of course, all the friends I’ve made here.

What’s going to hurt the most is to leave our apartment. Sure, our residence is a bit Los Paranoias, but it has a pool and a tennis court and unless I become a trillionaire overnight, it’s just not going to be the same.


But in the end, I’m relieved we’re moving. Julien groans whenever I mention our move, but I can only think of the opportunities Paris can offer me, job-wise and culture-wise. At this point in my life I don’t think I, and I don’t think we, can stay in one place for three years straight. Aix-en-Provence is a small town and though not lacking in charm, it can feel small from time to time.

The thought of being able to meet old friends from Manila in Paris excites me. The fact that I’ll be able to visit Musée Pompidou’s exhibits whenever I want thrills me. The idea of the ‘free museum entrance’ every first Sunday of the month clinches the deal.

One place isn’t better than the other. But the most important thing is Change.

Currently listening to:
Syd Matters
Syd Matters

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