I loved celebrating Chinese New Year when growing up in Hong Kong. The week vacation off school, the dragon dances, the fireworks, the little red envelopes with piggy-bank-savings-material. Good times… Fourteen years later, only in Paris (and minus the little red envelopes), I got to relive these ancient traditions and childhood memories.

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Dali was crazy. Crazy brilliant. I wish I could say that I can look at Dali’s work and know what he was thinking when painting it. And yet, even after seeing almost 200 pieces of his work, I am still just as confused and regrettably normal.

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The week has just begun and yet I find myself craving for Sunday. Usually Sundays are sad and rough because you realize that Monday is fast approaching, which brings with it having to actually wash your hair and set an alarm. But since I’ve moved to Paris, I have learned to relish and love Sundays. It means sleeping in late, visiting a museum or exhibit, and most importantly… brunch!

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At about this time a week ago I was ankle-deep in snow, wearing 20 layers, and trying (and failing) to build a snowman. And now I have a mind-clogging cold for a souvenir. Because although Paris might be kind of beautiful under a layer of white, you have to be fully prepared for the bitter, tongue-biting cold that comes with it.

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Everyone needs a quiet place to escape. A place where you can be with your own thoughts and just sit quietly for a moment. This is hard to find in Paris. There are people everywhere. The sidewalks are so narrow, there is barely enough room for you to walk, let alone the cyclists, hoards of tourists, baby carriages, and speed-walkers. One could lose a limb while navigating these sidewalks. Stressed already? 

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I think I got lost there for a while. A month of finding my way. Discovering this city. Looking for a job. Hunting for a new direction… I’m only just starting to find it, but I know I’m not even close. Paris is a big city. It’s easy to get lost when you’re not quite sure what your goal is anymore. I always thought I knew what I wanted, but now I’m not so sure. So I set smaller, closer, reachable destinations. In this case: finding a job so that I can continue to live in this spectacular, thriving, but expensive city. Which ultimately explains my absence this past month. Because apparently looking for a job is a full-time job in itself. And when I wasn’t busy sending out CVs, running from one boutique to another, or translating my life from English into French; I was discovering Paris.

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You can tell when it’s Fashion Week in Paris. Even as a newcomer, non-show-goer; you can tell. This city is always the center of fashion, but it accentuates to a heightened level during this particular week of September. You begin to notice things. 

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I am currently packing my bags. But this kind of packing is harder, because it’s not just for a few days, or a few weeks even… I’m packing these bags to move to Paris.

On Monday I’ll be leaving my home city Madrid, and fly a little further north, just to see if I can withstand some cold and rain for a few months. Well, no, actually I am going to see if I can learn French and find a job, but it probably won’t hurt to get used to weather other than eternal sunshine. It’s hard to believe that while for the past few weeks, the only thing that’s been on my mind is Paris; in 48 hours it’ll no longer be on my mind, but rather it’ll be all around me.

[Photo credit: all images are mine unless otherwise stated here]


Week one of my intensive French course has come to an end, and all I can seem to think about is anything French. While my grasp of the “plus-que-parfait” verb tense might not be up to par quite yet, there are still 3 more weeks left “pour améliorer” (aka to get my act together). And there’s something about French style that is just so sharp and casual at the same time, you realize they didn’t receive the label of “effortlessly chic” for nothing.

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