By Rhodora Ayuyang
The
year was 2001. I just finished a temporary assignment, a data
entry project marked by bonding with fellow temps and September
11. Over the years I became enamored with Paris because of her
abundance of art history, the college major I felt the urgency
to declare or risk disappointing my parents. I dreamed of seeing
the City of Lights in person. My sisters helped me to believe
that dreams can come true.
We made our reservations in advance for late
December wanting, as my older sister expressed, to end and to
begin the year on a memorable note. Despite apprehensions following
9/11, we stayed on our course to travel. I envisioned ourselves
as a band of females venturing outside home soil and into European
territory for the first time. We accepted the challenge minus
the contacts, and knowing only basic language phrases we processed
from books only weeks before. Ultimately, we relied on our exuberance
and naivete.
Such tactics did not prepare us for confusion
in Charles de Gaulle airport, which drifted into amnesia upon
arriving into the city in the rain, and seeing her architectural
beauty through jet lagged eyes. Settling into the quaint hotel
room with my younger sister, I realized that I was living a dream,
upon hearing the bells of a nearby church situated within the
Marais district. The dream would evolve into a collection of sites,
tastes and sounds.
For a week, we lived like Parisians taking
time in cafes to savor the moment, until my sister and I acknowledged
that we did not have the luxury of time. Despite the subzero temperatures,
we scurried through her boulevards, ponts and gardens, if we were
not riding the metro. Although we had a sense of the vicinities
we wanted to focus on, we could not resist bumping into a monument
we did not think twice about until it appeared before our eyes.
We played avid admirers standing before Notre Dame Cathedral,
the Venus de Milo, the Mona Lisa, Rodin's lovers, and the Eiffel
Tower by day and night.
Towards the end of our stay, my sisters and
I felt confident enough to agree on exploring the city individually.
I opted for a return visit to the Montmartre district, while my
younger sister traversed south to the left bank's Montparnasse
neighborhood and my older sister strolled to the nearby Picasso
Museum.
That is how I wish to remember my original
visit to Paris. I did not see her for the first time with a lover
or alone. I was fortunate enough to have witnessed her beauty
with two of my best girlfriends. As our lives divert to follow
their own courses, we know in our hearts we will always have each
other. My sisters and I will always have Paris.
