The first day of solo travels.  Hasn’t been all that exciting so far. Last night I stayed in, finished packing, and crashed.

Was woken up at 1am by Jilly getting home, but slept fairly well and was able to make it to Paris in one piece. Spent an hour dealing with ticket bookings, then making my way to the hostel.

As I write this I am sitting across from a Moroccan guy who can’t speak English. At all. And yet, I think he asked me out. Huh. Anyways, I’m exhausted because today I climbed the Tour Eiffel. And walked about some nasty amount. But mostly, its the stairs that have done me in.

The best discovery today was a cemetery. In it I saw the graves of Manet and Debussy. But that’s not important. Mainly, it was seeing the care and love in the tombs. The ancient stone wreaths of flowers. The inscriptions written to a mother,who was comcompared to a leopard, and a man’s dedication to his wife, and her love of art. Grave art, I think, is one of those things that define humanity.

Tomorrow, either thecatacombs and the Louvre, or Versailles. Depends on schedules.

Take care, mes amies.

For those of you who actually look forward to reading these, sorry I haven’t written in so long. I’ve been travelling and working and am currently trying to overcome a cold that makes my bones feel like limp noodles.

Usually I write these things on Sundays and because of that, and a series of very busy Sundays, I haven’t been able to write, or haven’t remembered to write…

I read as many articles as I could yesterday. I still don’t quite know how to react. So I’ll write what I’m feeling, and maybe something will come clear.

I lived in Boston for a year.  I walked on those sidewalks.  Boston was my introduction to the world beyond itty bitty Pender Island.  It’s one of the most prominent memories I have of my childhood. That was a year after 9/11.  I didn’t understand geography and all I could wonder was “am I safe here?  In the USA? How can any of this possibly be safe?”  Now, at the time, I was told over and over that I was safe. That the war was miles away and that Boston wasn’t a target.  There was a feeling that if you weren’t associated with political/global action, you were safe.  Domesticity was safe.  I don’t think that anymore.  I haven’t for years.

When I told my friend what had happened I think the most poignant thing she said, through a gasp of complete astonishment and heartbreak, was “again?”  Another horrible thing, innocents injured and killed, again?

We don’t know who was behind the attack on the marathon.  I am praying that this does not become fodder for those who would racially profile and persecute others.  I just think that there is something wrong with the world when places like school, movie theatres, and sidewalks aren’t safe. I think the best thing I saw in the tweets that were pouring out were those messages of thanks to those who stepped up to help the wounded and traumatized.  The damage of those seconds is going to affect those people for the rest of their lives, not just physically, but mentally.

So, what I’m trying to say is that when the world feels like this, when it feels like there are shadows behind every corner, the best thing we can do is give support.  Try to understand.  Let’s create a society where people aren’t afraid to get help for fear of stigma, and where people feel like they can get results through peaceful actions.

I am exhausted.  Totally, thoroughly, exhausted.  But, I am done my courses at BBC Academy!  It’s kind of sad, but I’m really proud of myself, and of the 7 other people in my program.  Guys, we just did some seriously impressive work: A different course every week, working long hours, constantly new people, new environments, new topics.  Sure, some of the topics were things we’d heard before, but all of use were pushed to learn more, do more, create more than we have in the past.

Something happens when I finish a large section of work: I get reflective and faux-philosophical.  I start looking at where I am and feel like shouting “HOW THE HELL DID THIS HAPPEN?” at the top of my lungs because somehow I went from this:

A blond, blue-eyed 10-year-old whose main concern was hiding the massive gap in her front teeth… oh, and getting through middle school (nvm, those years were terrible) but still, I was an optimistic little kid, not even 5′ tall, whose dream was to be a film director.  Sure, I could have a proper conversation with an adult, but I could also have an equally long conversation with the fairies who resided in the wisteria bushes.

To this:

A fifteen-year-old who can’t remember her natural hair colour and who just wants the damn boy to notice her.  Oh, and who also believes that dark eyeliner makes her look mysterious.  On the bright side, I was getting amazing grades and stage-managed several productions at this point.  Capable? yes.  Real grip on reality?  No.

To this:

A nearly-20-year-old with an access badge to the BBC, living in London for the semester, planning out her future, surrounding myself with amazing people who I want to keep in my life for as long as possible, and generally enjoying everything I can.  Ten years ago I had blond hair, blue eyes, and no idea how to realize my dreams.  Now, I’m a red-headed, green eyed (don’t know how that happened), film student.

Sometimes I get to the point where I don’t want to get out of bed and all I want is for someone to tell me that it’s okay to be a whiny teenager. Then I think about how rotten it was to be a high schooler.  That, or my mother tells me how whiny I was as a high schooler.  Either one works to remind me how glad I am to be here, and now, and with the people I am now.

On Monday I am taking a train to Paris.  I will be with my parents and my brother, and I will hopefully be able to speak a little French, even if people do hate my Quebec/I-can’t-really-speak-French accent.