Chronicles of a haitian girl in Paris

French Version

I wander in the cold streets of Paris. It’s raining! I Look at my watch: It’s 6:30. The weather is refreshing. I’m discovering everything about this city. Paris is new to me. A whole lot of shops line up next to each other. I barely know their names. I’m willing to know more. I’m on my “Dora The explorer” mood. A church appears at a crossroads. It looks lordly and its view fills me with a feeling of spirituality. I stop on my walk and I take a quick picture. My phone gets wet immediately.

I look at the sky and I let the icy raindrops fall all over me. I’m feeling like a movie character. I compare myself to a fearless heroine seeking for adventures. I close my eyes and I imagine my own fairytale: The love of my life will suddenly appear. He will protect me from the raindrops. He will tell me with his french accent:

– Mademoiselle, je vous offre un café? (1)

This is the storyline that we usually see in novels. I will smile. I will take a candid peek at him and I will answer:

– Avec plaisir! (2)

He will tell me every little details about this city. Paris have welcomed me since the past few months and I barely know this city. He will teach me everything that I need to know. We will have some long and smart talks. I will try my best to show that I can express myself with wit. Because I’ll want him to think that I am smart. He will tell me poems in the language of Molière. I will inspire him the most beautiful verses… I feel the stream of the raindrops over my hands. I come back to reality. Paris is the city of Love. But my fairytale will not have a happy ending.

I try to follow the pace of the passengers. Parisian are always in a hurry. They gradually outstrip me. I slow down my pace. I am a Caribbean girl. I like to take my time.

I discover Paris at dusk. There is no twilight, but the city is all lit up. People are dressed in black and the walls are gray. Paris seems sad. It is animated, yet seems frozen. I am an island girl, I can not help but notice the lack of color on the houses even when I know that each one of these houses shouts a story.

Cafes and bars are as numerous as fashion stores. At every corner, at every avenue, they line up one after the other. All filled. I am looking for a quiet place to retire.

My lack of style and elegance can remind everybody that I’m new in this city. I am neither a Parisian, much less a fashionista. I know, because my boots up in my lap and my scarf hides half of my face. I am a Caribbean girl, I’m afraid of the cold. The other girls outstrip me, each one more elegant than other one. I mentally add to my to-do list ” go shopping”.

My hair is falling over my face. What was supposed to be a big marvellous Fro at the beginning of the day, is now a life less tuft.

A rose seller approaches me and asks:

– Une fleur pour la demoiselle? (3)

I desperately look for some money. But in my pocket, I only have tickets for the metro.

The seller smiles at me and says:

– C’est gratuit, pour la demoiselle. (4)

Paris! Why does you have to be so beautiful?

I’m listening to “sober” from Childish Gambino. Because all those who know me, know that Wendy lives to the rhythm of music. And my music tonight is this song that I can describe only with two words: Melancholic, perfect.

I continue my walk alone with myself. I hum the lyrics of the song: “Now That it’s over, I’ll Never Be sober” …

And then my eyes fill with tears. They are hot. They stream down my face and mix with rain drops. Memories flood into my head. I close my eyes. My mood must be as volatile as the weather. I switch from “heroine looking for love” to this indecisive, melancholic, lost girl.

I take my phone out of my pocket. It is 20:00. I count my steps. No matter where they take me, I am fearless. Paris promises to be enchanting.

(1)_Miss, Can I offer you a drink?

(2)_With pleasure!

(3)_Does the lady want a rose?

(4)_It’s free for the Lady!

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