il est cinq heures, paris s’éveille

paris

When waking up on Saturday morning, I subconsciously thought of the lyrics to one of my favorite chansons: Il est cinq heures, Paris s’éveille by Jacques Dutronc.

Paris woke up that morning, in fear, after a night of brutal attacks which took dozens of innocent lives.

I remember when I was Charlie back in January, we all were Charlie for a brief second, maybe. I also remember writing this:
“After what has been the most awful week ever in Paris, I can only hope that we, as a people, can stay strong and don’t feel any fear. Of course, I am scared, especially for our future children to grow up in a world like this.”

After what happened on Friday night how does one conquer fear?

Writing about this may seem egocentric given that this happens in other countries on a daily basis, but still. The proximity of Friday night’s events puts things in a different perspective (to me, at least).

Paris was my first love, you know. France was. Its language was and still is. It is the city that fed my wanderlust and where I love to go back to, over and over again. Nowadays, I feel hesitant, just like many of you.
This fear, however, is just one of the many purposes of Friday night’s events and we cannot let said fear become us.

For now I’ll keep the phrase that was displayed on the Eiffel tower last night in my thoughts and I hope all of us will:

Fluctuat nec mergitur

 

 

(she is tossed by the waves but does not sink)

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