Soft heart in a hard city

I didn’t recognize the song right away, but for some reason I just knew that’s what it was, as if I subconsciously wanted it to be that song. Like a sheep in a heard, I just kept walking, not thinking. I just want to get home. I just want to get home. That mantra had been playing on repeat in my head since I had left my apartment at 7 that morning. I just want to get home. But that voice. It pierced through my zombie state of mind

 and I just froze

in the middle of the corridor. Machines, not people, set on auto-pilot and always upset about something rushed by. They became a blur of black coats as my eyes tried to focus on the source of the music beyond the crowd. I couldn’t see where the voice was coming from, yet it was so clear and strong.

Tears started sliding down my cheeks. I couldn’t figure out why. I wasn’t feeling particularly sad, just very tired. The voice continued to sing. I could see the guy now, a homeless man sitting humbly on the floor of the metro corridor. Armed with his guitar, amp and mike he attacked our ears and invaded our hearts.

I moved out of the way of the mob and closed my eyes. Then it hit me. Today marked one month since I’ve been in Paris. My first month alone in an other country. Today was also the first day I had to encounter the strictness of the French education system (I don’t know how you learn through their methods…). I realized how much I missed certain people back home: my brothers, my parents, friends. I wish they were here with me. I know how much they would love it too.

The voice kept poking at my heartstrings.

As overwhelming as those feelings were, I knew that overall, I am happy here. I’m meeting people from all over the place. I’m spending more time with my aunts, uncles and cousins who I don’t see enough. I feel like I’m really getting to know my family and in exchange, I’m getting to know myself a little better. These moments are priceless and worth every penny I’ve spent trying to get to Paris.

In one month, Paris given me a thicker skin, just like any city would. But, there’s something about Paris that keeps your heart throbbing.

He finished his song. Immediately I broke out of trance, realizing that I wasn’t the only one who had stopped. I pulled out a couple coins and tossed them in his guitar bag. I looked at the man in the eyes, smiled and said “Thank you.” Then off I went, my heart full and happy, no longer exhausted.