’til it clicks

It’s been one month since I left the United States and at this point I think the only thing I fear in this world is returning to any semblance of what western traditionalism asks of me.

If anything has become apparent to me, it is the sheer brutal power of projected ideologies in America. Whether it’s people telling me what I should or shouldn’t do on my own travel, or whether it’s a strange sense of guilt that comes with being overseas, I realize that most has to do with how culture at home has conditioned individuals to react to the idea of not being arm in arm with the rest of American society. The idea that I needed a to-do list, as opposed to a wandering curiosity, to experience a city like Paris may not be strictly American in its nature—but it’s fucked regardless.

Fortunately, what I have experienced is such a remarkable sense of community with complete strangers that I don’t care if I’m not eating the ‘right’ cheeses or drinking the ‘best’ wines. I am, however, living my own fucking life and not answering to anyone for it. In the morning I pack in a car with two people from France, one from Brazil, one from Germany and one from Denmark on a day trip to Bordeaux. What will I do? Who knows. And that’s kind of the point.

Posted to Personal at 23:44 on 12 May 2018

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