Masadonia.

Who knew?

Rush.

Its hard to keep up,

in this fast paced world

Surrounded by speed,

eyes barely blinking,

the effort to concentrate

is lost,

lost and gone.

Forever.

Just me and my surroundings.

Wandering aimlessly, unaware where my feet are taking me. I trot on. Seemingly oblivious to my current whereabouts. No knowledge of the direction of 'home'. Smiling at passers-by who know I'm entranced. Entranced by the city that brings out my best, encapsulated by my surroundings, noticing the fly on the pavement, the gum under the old man's seat. The overcast day fails to place a blunder on my happiness, enlightening me futhermore to where I am, what I'm doing. Trawling the streets like I have no place to go. Others are mere drawings on my painting of life. I gasp in the air, like it will soon be gone.

I am purely enthralled by this city of lights, city of love, city all mine.

Your own way of life.

I look up from watching my feet, my effort so far to focus myself, steel my thoughts on the task at hand. As I glance upwards I see myself surrounded by bush, greenery and all that subsitutes New Zealand wildlife. Friends in tow, we tramp on, aware that the only way we will reach our destination is to keep at it. A daunting but self satisfying thought. Forcing your feet to continue, one by one, you move on. Friends surround me, reminding me why I'm here, the reason we came. I pull my eyes back to my feet, concentrating my attention on my inadequate tramping shoes, the stones digging into my soles like they're intent on destroying my feet. The air is damp, but silent. We are all in our own worlds, concentrating on continued movement, not wanting to lag behind.

I think of the city, the bustling place we left behind to come here. It sounds mad. Leaving the temptation of a town filled with activities behind to escape to a stone track surrounded for miles by bush, trees and all things green. But its the unknown, the challenge and the struggle in life that can define you, remind you who you are and why you're here. And that's what my friends and I wanted, and what we're getting. I wouldn't trade it for anything.

Find the positives.

I wonder if feeling cold is a sign of life, of living, of being alive. If so, I think I'm living beyond my years. Heaters seem insufficient, hot water is a waste of time and blankets seem about the only thing that works, though it takes hours for their warmth to truly kick in. Followed by a lack of movement so no warm air escapes.

On the flip side, the library is toasty. Lecture theatres swift me away to tropical islands filled with professors and lino. Its not all bad. The mould on my window from lack of air and stubborn condensation is sure to have benefits. Though I haven't figured out what they are just yet.

As I watch the calendar, willing dates to fly by to bring summer and a sun which actually omits heat, perhaps I'm over analysing. After all, I have a roof over my head so when it rains I don't get wet. (Though technically I do as the flat has such an incredible lack of insulation that I'm practically drinking the moisture inside.)

I do have a heater which allows the possibility for warmth. (Then again, its heat is instantly sucked out the paper thin walls though still costing us far more than what our student loans can handle.)

But really, I have people to share it with. This experience. Or whatever. I don't have to sit alone, cold, damp, frozen. I can look around me and see three other shivering bodies, wrapped in blankets around the heater, hot water bottles perched on our chill bained covered feet.

So its not alllllll bad.

Back in black.

Im back. Though I guess in saying that it leads to the belief I was away, which I wasn't. If anything, now I'm away. Its just as different as before. Despite knowing what to expect. Though routine is coming and I've always been a creature of routine. Good or bad. It helps me align myself and understand what I'm doing in the bigger picture. I am a Leo, after all.

It really is too cold. The walls are paper thin, pushing hot air out and cold air in. Perhaps I will be hanging at the library more often.

Though I always have the thoughts of Paris to help...

Paris, je t'aime.

The plans are underway. As I type away avidly on this keyboard, thousands of miles away from the city of romance, the plans may slowly be coming to fruition.

I can imagine, daydream, hope endlessly for things that will never occur. Or I can make it happen. One day at a time. A process, but nevertheless, a start. One that can bring bounties of excitement and joy.

I still dream. Close my eyes and replace my surroundings. Sometimes it happens by acident, catching me unaware with its power and deliberateness. The flowing landscape in front of me, green hills and snow capped mountains are replaced by century old buildings and cobblestone streets.

The wry image conjured in my subconscious is no longer enough.

Late riser.

I love when I can wake up as the sun permeates a red glow accross the city, relfecting the hues accross the landscape, hitting the tallest buildings. It creates a silhouette, born by nature.

Its sunset.

Pitter patter.

Like the sound of a tap dancer on a wooden floor, it becomes my subconscious.
Like the feeling of escaping to a tropical island, in the midst of a bitter winter.
Like the touch of a steaming cup of tea, in a forest of frost.

Rain.

Teeth of intelligence.

I didn't really think I was wise before. But certaintly whatever wisdom I thought I had before, is now gone.

Wisdom teeth extraction is a relatively painless procedure. Or so I remember. By far the best bit is the absence of solid food for the following days. I've never been much of a yogurt and ice cream fan to begin with but by now it is far from passe. Sarcasm intended.

Though the benefit is the ability to watch movies and tv for days on end with a totally plausible excuse. A servant comes in handy too, or a relation to take the place.

I don't even feel any different. I may have two more wholes filling my already crammed mouth, but it doesn't feel like I'm missing the wisdom I once garnered.

Only time will tell.

Ignition.

Was it really a book that ignited my passion for Paris? Was it lying dormant in me this whole time, waiting to be awakened?

Was it this book that caused me to transfer ordinary words of my everyday english life into reminders of the french way of life? The way of life I could be living in little over a year. Can this dream possibly become a reality?

Subconsiously seeing my shampoo bottle's label 'expert' as the word 'expat'? Is this fate, foreshadowing or should it be forgotten? Discarded as little more than an accident, a mistake that means nothing.

But I can't possibly let it slip between my fingers as nothing more than accidental. Its ignited feelings in me i'd forgotten were there.

My longing for croissants, baguettes and berets is awake.