Upon my Return to Paris

Credit @Paddy Carey

By Erin Deborah

So I went back to Paris last week. 

It was the first time I had been back properly since living there in 2021, and it’s safe to say I was filled with an array of emotions as I boarded the Eurostar, coffee in one hand and passport in the other.

Excited, because it’s a city I know I love. Heartfelt, because I knew I would get to see the friends I made there. Safe, because this time I wasn’t stepping onto the platform with the sense of fear I had when I moved countries alone for the first time.

But also nervous, because I wondered how I would feel. Untethered, because I knew I’d be floating around, crashing at different friends’ apartments in lieu of having my own little home in the city. Most of all, restrained. Because I know how much I love Paris, how much I belong there - and how much I know I won’t be moving back any time soon.

I’ve never felt such an inexplicable attachment to a place before. Sure, Johannesburg holds significance for me, as the place I was born, the city in which I grew up. London is my current home, it is where all my friends live. Durham is where I learnt about myself, where I met some of the most important people in my life. 

Paris, though, is mine because I chose it. I chose it because I feel like myself there. It holds unending possibility, love, style, friendship, beauty. 

As I drank in two friends’ favourite bars, as I trailed around galleries with another, as I discovered the city at night with a fourth, I realised I had the opportunity to re-examine the place I love outside of the pandemic which altered my life there two years ago. Full of life, exciting, and just as - no, even more - beautiful and mine than before. 

I want to live in Paris, that much I know. But right now my life's in London. My work is in London, and my career is my focus for the time being. I don’t have a reason to move to the city of lights, of love, and that is okay. Despite the strings tugging me across the Channel, I find myself drinking coffee in the Tuileries and reminding myself that Paris will always be here. I know I will be back someday.

Moving to a new city is like falling in love. At first, you can’t get enough, can’t imagine being anywhere else. But soon the light dims, and you find a balance. You learn to be apart, to carry on with all of life’s tiny details. Normality resumes; work goes on. Instead of excitement and passion, you are left with a feeling of home. 

You don’t have to be side by side at all times, for you know you are inextricably linked at the core.