|The aunt and uncle in Paris. Cool cats.|
That's why I came back to Paris, too.
Turns out, traveling for three months is exhausting.
Also turns out that learning another language is exhausting.
And it turns out, I got a nice offer from a friend to stay in Paris for awhile "to see."
So I'm here to see.
(Cheers heard around the world. And I hope a few sighs. Turns out, it's all in the asking—accepting who is asking and accepting who is not.)
I'm also here to conquer the language.
I'd like to be bilingual. Of course, I would love to be bilingual in Italian, but I feel like a first grader in Italian while I feel like a sixth grader in French. And being a sixth grader in French means I'll graduate to bilingualism sooner in Paris than I will in Rome.
Plus, Rome in the summer with all those tourists? Non merci.
Not being in Rome doesn't stop me from practicing my Italian language CDs. When I do, I shut the windows and get out my Italian book and CDs from under my pile of t-shirts. Like I'm being sneaky.
Somehow, pretending to be sneaky about it makes it more fun.
My friend Sandro, who learned English on his own, said that he tries to think of learning English as a hobby. That way it doesn't feel like work.
I think if I study my language book while sipping legal addictive stimulants in a café, accompanied by a croissant or pain au chocolat, maybe it won't feel like work to me either.
|This was my final latté in Rome. It was as if the bartender knew I was leaving and was convincing me to stay. I was swayed by his caffeine-infused swooning.|