I just watched the film Paris Je T'aime for the second time. I saw it in the theatre when it was released in the States (maybe in 2006?) and I loved it. I realized that I forgot some of the vignettes. Or, I had completely invented continuations of the stories that weren't in the film. Par example, in my version, Maggie Gyllenhaal's character reunites with her dealer. Or the Arab girl and the French teenager share a kiss. Um, none of that ever happened but somehow, my mind completed the stories.
If I had to pick one vignette that speaks to me the most, it would be the woman who ventures to Paris alone (14e arrondissement). I feel her "joy and sadness" when the beauty of Paris hits her and she realizes she's there and she's alive. She may not have her dream man, but in that moment, none of that matters. I have surely been in Paris and had several eye-watering moments like that. I've been there. I've composed poetry on the inside cover of my Rick Steve's Paris guide because I couldn't contain my emotion. I sat at an outside table at Deux Magots and donned my dark glasses so people couldn't see the excitement on my face. It sounds so melodramatic and silly, but where Paris is concerned, I simply lose it. Paris is like the perfect lover that I never had. I know that anytime I go there, that familiar feeling of comfort and bliss will take hold.
I've noticed so many new francophile blogs in the blogosphere and it's so amazing to me: I'm not the only weirdo out there who feels so passionately about Paris. It definitely gives me a feeling of solidarity.
