Growing Pains
It only feels like yesterday when I walked into my room in the 11th arrondissement.
Freshly eighteen, perky with eyes that still twinkled with ambition and hope.
I don’t remember when I fell in love with the idea of living in Paris but somewhere in this heart of mine, I knew that I would feel at home. An island girl who didn’t care about the beaches and the sun anymore, a girl far too curious about the unknown and hungry to explore parts of the world so foreign to her. All I wanted to do was move as fast as I could. The “calling” was so powerful that I asked my mother to emancipate me so that I could finish high school in the city. One thing I admire the most and wish I held on to a little more from my teenage self is that I was never afraid. I embraced the unknown at all times and never said no to new things. I lived to grow my identity capital and romanticised everything because I have always believed that if life didn’t resemble a movie, what was the point?
Obviously, my mother was reluctant but not necessarily opposed. It may sound crazy to some that she’d ever consider it but our relationship had always been built on trust and she trusted my decisions. Ever since I was a little girl, if she saw that I was determined or 100% positive about something she’d give it a shot, like she trusted my intuition as much as my crazy self did. I was tutoring the French consul’s daughter at the time so I inquired about emancipation and told her that I wanted to go to finish high school in France. She said that it was a stupid idea and told me to just wait a couple years more. I did and I’m glad I did because those were the times I made memories that I will never forget.
The pre-move organisation was far harder than I expected. I had so much trouble finding accommodation being so far and, having never lived outside of the island. I didn’t understand the complexities of having your “dossier” in order, or needing a “garant”. I spent hours on websites trying to find a home and imagining a life for myself in the different spaces. I googled all the neighbourhoods and virtually explored the streets.
It came to a point when my moving date came closer and I still didn’t find a place. So my mum inquired with her friends and someone told her about a woman that was renting her room out. I hated the idea. This ruined my French fantasy of living in my own space and creating my own little world. But I didn’t really have a choice, it was that or being stuck on the island. Fast forward to now, the lady in question became my second mother. A woman I almost love as much as my own. A woman that has given me the sisters I would pray and wish for as a little girl before going to bed. She raised me at my rebirth as my freshly adult self, taught me to be more assertive, to stand up for myself, enforcing my French side. She also taught me emotional control and taught me that it is never the end of the world. She held my hand through major cultural shifts I never imagined I’d have to face. In hindsight, never finding my “dream” apartment saved me from a lot of panic attacks after confronting unnecessarily rude bank tellers, government officials and passive aggressive waiters.
I didn’t create the life I thought I did alone and fulfilled the Parisian fantasy I made up in my head, but I got something better— a special spot in a Parisian family, giving me the most authentic experience any girl could ask for.
I didn’t need to look too hard to find the other members of my chosen family. The higher power placed them on my lap— they were my classmates. I don’t even recall when it was we became friends. They somehow just became a big part of me and every single day felt like an episode of Girls. Ruby, Lucinda, Abigail and Grace Kelly and I. Too many crazy, hilarious, heartbreaking anecdotes— serious movie scenes. Stories I ought to share with you sooner or later.
We called ourselves “The Bleeding Tits” in attempt to be some type of girlband with none of us having any musical skills whatsoever. A few lousy attempts at songwriting but, obviously, it never amounted to anything. Like many iconic girl groups, the big fall out happened and it felt like a show finale. However, I am lucky enough to still be in contact and good terms with every Bleeding Tit, all having their very own spin off show. We may all no longer get along anymore, but, I think I can speak for all of us that we have gifted each other the most amazing experiences, the ideal experiences I will even say for a group of early twenty something girls who all moved far from their respective hometowns. Nothing more magical then having the pleasure to share new and fresh experiences for the first time with people who are going through the same thing.
To anyone moving far from home for school to a place that feels unfamiliar, I hope you find your people — those who become like family and share this new chapter of your life with you.
Life in Paris over the past six years was everything I could’ve hoped for, maybe even more. I was surrounded by good people and given opportunities I never imagined would come my way. There were so many laughs, so many tears, and countless moments when I felt truly alive. Not once did I feel like I didn’t belong. This city was mine—it is mine. It feels like home.
I love that I know so many streets by heart, that I’m on a first-name basis with the staff at my favorite bar. I had my routines, and the ones I shared with my friends. My French got so much better, and I’m no longer afraid to talk on the phone. There were sun-filled terrace lunches and late-night, tipsy dancing in the streets. Makeout sessions on the bridge. Long walks, hand in hand, through the Bourse de Commerce.
Yaya’s homemade Japanese meals in her cozy 7th arrondissement apartment. Sleepovers at Ella’s place in the Marais. Lazy Sundays at Ruby’s in the 11th, and wild after-parties at Lucinda’s. Smoking weed with Grace Kelly because she’s the only one I don’t totally freak out with. Sit-and-bitch sessions with Alex at Le Progrès. And all the fleeting, beautiful moments I fell in love with strangers at Martin.
As much as I had the most beautiful and unreal times in Paris, this city also screwed with me a lot. I don’t think I realised how difficult it truly was going to be to move to a whole different continent at such a young age. And I am one of the lucky ones, I spoke the language fluently prior moving, I had financial support from my mother and found my people relatively fast. I can’t imagine how it is for those who don’t have any of those things. Even with my privilege, there were serious moments where I wanted to give up. I struggled finding a way to balance my work, school and life balance, more and more bills kept adding up as I got older, the fucking cold. The intense hits of depression. Then I’d feel guilty for feeling this way, guilty that I’d feel unhappy because my mother worked so hard to get me here, guilty because I am the first person in my family to go to school abroad and I chose fashion marketing and had very average grades. When I have cousins who do much better than me in school and who I believed probably deserved the position I was in more than I ever did. Moments when I was so homesick and missed the food, the sun and how easy life was on the island. So many tears of pain shed yet the thought of actually giving up was impossible, no pain was enough to make me part ways from my beloved Paris.
My biggest take away from all those moments of pain was that it always works out anyway. Yeah, I still have problems but none are the same problems I had in the past. There is something comforting in knowing that even though obstacles will always be thrown at me, no matter what I will get out of it, if I want it bad enough.
My mother is a very generous woman, but she always believed in me having good work ethic so she told me that she no longer would support me post grad, that I either had to figure it out or I could fly home. As much as I low key hate saying this because of a handful of reasons, but modelling really came in at the right time. I was able to have a seamless transition after school and worked as a model during the peak of the body positivity movement, I was able to get opportunities that girls that looked like me could only dream about only a few years back. I was able to travel the world for work and met the most interesting characters, some of became good friends of mine. The most amazing and kind hearted creatives in an industries filled with snakes and mean girls. However, I started to get too comfortable and was slowly losing my initial ambition of wanting to build something on my own. Modelling made me lazy, I could work only a couple of times a month and sit my ass for the rest of the time and bills would still get paid. I no longer had any drive or inspiration, I lost a part of my identity. I changed from a girl that once was always so sure of what she wanted out of life to one that had no idea what it was she liked to do. I started to write copy for fashion brands and put my diploma to use. As much as I am so proud of the work I was able to do, it still wasn’t “mine”. The curve model market started to plunge as people were reverting back to glamorising extremely skinny bodies, so I didn’t work as much. And since, I didn’t do much on the side and waited around and being depressed, I was not prepared for the skinny apocalypse. So money started being an issue, I was late on rent and was not making enough with copywriting. So I felt stuck, I didn’t make enough and I didn’t know where to go to fix it. I tried to apply to 9-5 jobs in fashion but the job market is so bad and there is a lot of competition. I recognise that out of all of the people who apply, I am probably at the bottom of the list due to my lack of experience with only a few internships and odd jobs. I could’ve have applied for like a waitress job or a barista but I knew that that wouldn’t make me happy. So when I cried to my mum one day, telling her that I didn’t know what to do anymore, she told me that I was going to figure it out like I always do. But, this time she did for me. She called me back a couple of days after whilst I was on trip to Marseille with my friends ( a pre-planned trip before I knew I was going to go broke) and offered me to take over the little boutique on Gili Air island. I said yes. Who was I to turn down an opportunity to own a business when I had nothing going for me?
On the other hand, I was ashamed and scared. All this trouble to move to a different country and here I am quitting after 6 years because things got tough? Am I taking the easy way out?
I quickly realised that it was wrong to see things that way. I am simply given a opportunity to grow and do bigger and better things. I had to look at where I was at and face the truth— I was stuck and I was so focused on surviving, I forgot what it felt like to live. I was turning 25 in the next few months and I still didn’t build anything for myself and if I continued going down that same route, I would lose any hope or ambition I once had and would’ve settled for something easy and depressing. I know so many people, people I have grown up with, some who are older than me lose any belief in themselves after a certain age and end up doing things they hate. People who once had big dreams and great ideas. I didn’t want to be that, I didn’t want to lose my sparkle forever, because it seemed like once you lose it, it’s hard to find it again.
I knew I had to sacrifice the vision of the life I wanted to have in Paris. I was extremely sad that this probably meant I was going to leave for a while but I was excited for this new chapter. A door opening, freeing me from the purgatory I was experiencing. Life is too short to wait around and see how things will turn out without taking any action, passively waiting on good things to come around. I strongly believe that when you’re not on the path meant for you, life will present hardships as signs to guide you toward where you’re truly meant to be. It’s important to listen to your intuition—to know when it’s time to stop and try something new. But don’t confuse that with giving up too easily; they are not the same. And I can confidently say that I gave it my all.
Just like I knew in my heart that Paris was the city I was meant to live in, I knew that it was time for me to leave for a while. And even though I didn’t know where it was I was going to end up after starting my business, I knew I’d be back but I wanted to come back afresh.
I left to Indonesia for seven months and was extremely committed to make it work, I really had the “now or never” mentality. If I was going to leave Paris behind, it had to be worth it.
I understood that in order for me to stay on this path of change and growth, I had to really let go of the things that linked me to the past. I had to make big steps and understood that slowly transitioning into this new chapter was not going to work because I was far to attached to my old life. It was descent and comfortable, it was also beautiful but I wasn’t fully happy nor fulfilled and I had the right to not want to settle.
Now here we are.
It all feels unreal as I am standing in my room with all my things packed up ready to be stored in some cold storage room. I am unable to discuss about anything “moving” related with my roommates, tears always pour out of my eyes uncontrollably and I simply cannot look at the them.
I look at every inch of the apartment and neighbourhood, trying to remember all the special things that took place and hoping I’ll never forget them.
The bed I said “I love you” to my first boyfriend, who probably didn’t deserve it but needed to hear it. The gate where I told my second boyfriend that the truth was that, I would be fine and that he would become a distant memory and eventually I’d forget him. The couch I cried on too many times to count where my chosen family spent hours to comfort me. Indonesian meals my mother prepared in the kitchen when she visited for my friends as her way of saying thank you for taking care of me while she was so far away. The same kitchen where I’ve experimented with cooking and failed most of the time but had a few memorable successes. The counter Zoe and I drunkly leaned on when we happened to come home at the same time from different parties, where we’d grab a bite and debrief whispering to not wake the others. The teeny bathroom she would do my hair that never failed to wow my dates. The doorframe of my room where Shana would shyly stand in with the most comforting meal she cooked in her hands that brought me so much comfort especially in the times I was extremely depressed. Our forever-quiet street, the one I loved to walk along after the bar in the middle of the night, I still wish I had documented every single thought I had on those walks before laying my head to rest.
I fear I will never find that same feeling of “Home” elsewhere, that I will spend a lifetime comparing it to what I once had. I’m not excited about the idea of having to get familiar with a place all over again. But that’s a problem for another time. To be completely honest, I do not have a plan, the only one I have at the moment is that I will be in Naples for 3 weeks.
And will do my best to surrender to whatever path I am supposed to be on.
V.B, Paris, May 2025
