Back in Paris… grumbles from the mouse

The plane arrived on the 1st August. All that I can say is that it seems that I came back here too early. The relatives, friends and cats are welcoming me back, but the city tells me that I am an idiot. I should have stayed longer in the city where the streets have no name, says the city which has names. I feel like a foreigner, or a tourist in my very own native city. I miss the food smells from the stalls in Seoul, the liveliness and the smiles from ajummas selling the meals. I miss the energy from Seoul. Paris is totally dead in August, as you may know.
I know I did not manage to “turn the page” or “shut the door” behind me, whatever the most suitable metaphor would be. Korea is still in my blood (hence the “I miss kimchi at breakfast?? Lol), in my heart.
I miss the one I was in Korea, cute, daring, charming. Sit down in a cafe in Paris, or in a bar. I cannot get into a warm friendly conversation in Paris, as I did in Seoul, right? What my friends would do in a bar is criticize, deconstruct, deconstruct. A bit depressive. Maybe I should switch friends? Walking down in the street is no more an innocent game. Being watched out by guys in Seoul would be a light pleasure, some flirting in the air, nothing else. Back in Paris, a very short dress or skirt that would absolutely not arouse eyebrows in Seoul wakes up all the wolves in Paris, even in the Marais district. Shame on me. And, by the way, can Sarko do something, a law, so that we can walk down the street safely in cute short dresses?




Courtesy Pénélope Bagieu
Source: www.penelope-jolicoeur.com