i've never known real love

Seated in a plastic blue chair, front row, bright lights beaming down on me, I listen to my French teacher complain about customer service in France.

She talks about stores not keeping their hours; people being rude at the grocery store; standing in the rain for hours outside museums.

I miss Paris. I miss the abrupt manner in which people speak. The way conversations often sounded like arguments. I miss the serious attitude towards food. I miss beautiful pastries. I miss watching women walk by in beautiful outfits, every detail dealt with before she left the house.

Sometimes I'm hit with longing for the days spent walking, when I'd roam the streets for hours, and strangers would yell out to me, and I'd watch the sky change and the sun finally set over the Seine.

I don't miss the cold feeling that comes with being completely alone and out of my element.

I like Toronto. I like that I have a busy schedule, that people speak my language and get my sense of humour.

I like sneaking behind the bar at work so I can ask the bartender about making cocktails. Or eating free meals in the staff room and getting to know what goes on in the kitchen from the chefs.

I like going to Honest Ed's, a giant discount store, and trying on ridiculous clothing. Then going to Little Italy to buy parmesan from a smiling vendor who says "Ciao," as I walk out the door. I like the men that make noodles in Chinatown, and the vendors that scream at each other, and the customers, trying to sell 10 cobs of corn for 2 dollars.

Even this city has it's romance, and it's women who fly by on bicycles, scarves around their heads, vintage skirts flapping in the wind.

I like riding the street car, and people watching in the subway, which is somehow friendlier than the Parisian metro.

If Paris was a love affair, maybe this will bud into a real relationship. Because with school, work, an apartment and bills, this is where I'm settling. For now.