Paris : Je ne suis pas une femme amoureuse

I evoked the song « Je suis une femme amoureuse » because I think only women (or men) in love could be so certain of who they are: of their feelings (in love), of what they wants from life (the guy she or he was in love with) and of their place (it’s their right to love). This is largely in contrast with how I see my existence after a brief visit to Los Angeles. This town that I think of as home that always gives me good gooey homey feeling as the plane that carried me from elsewhere landed at the airport that most people hate (that I love, by the way), LAX or Los Angeles International Airport.

What gives? Well, this time around, I sort of had to search for this home coming feeling when my A340 landed in the bright LA sun. And instead of acting like a duck take to water (naturally), I actually noticed a few things that made me think, during my stay, that I have become more French than I thought.
For one thing, I did not spontaneously smile to those who served me in stores or in restaurants, for instance. Nor did I take it totally naturally when the person serving me asked how I am doing with a big smile. There was that one second too long of a delay before I put a smile on my face and said Fine. Gosh, everyone was so friendly and so in a good mood! Maybe I was just tired and all this friendliness and good energy were making me realize how tired I was (being tired and still stayed up until the wee hours of the morning is also a Parisian trait!).

And at times I would actually miss things that I have in Paris. The worst was the mornings when I longed for a real coffee prepared by a Parisian brasserie (very strong and black!)…even when I ordered Espresso in LA, it just did not hit the spot. And of course, baguette! Bagette that is still warm that one finds in the boulangerie in the corner of one’s street. Despite the snow white and perfectly shaped bread that I found in LA, I missed my misshapen baguette with butter in the morning. And of course, the lack of places where I could smoke with dignity made me long for the grey cold Paris (though I still thought I could do without the rude Parisians, so not totally Parisian yet I guess).

So, the morning I had to leave, I was in LAX early with more than a teensy positive anticipation of returning to Paris. As I used to do when I lived near LAX, I went to the ramp connecting Tom Bradley Terminal to the AA terminal to watch the planes docked at TBIT. Two Qantas planes were there connected to the terminal via a jetway. I mulled the scene representing in harmony the two countries I used to belong and in my heart I still maybe belong (Australia and USA) and made my way to the terminal to check in for my flight to Paris.
Seated in the plane, I asked myself who I am now….I belong nowhere and yet I belong everywhere. I wish I knew for sure that I belong to one place that I could call home, I wish I knew what my feelings are for each of the places that I could call home for different reasons, I wish I knew what I want…like a woman in love.