So I came up with a master plan, a Paris plan, a plan to (occasionally) live and write Paris, then quoi? I know I need to materialise it, and you know I won’t sell any of my Chanel classic bags, for obvious reasons. Nor am I selling any of my shoes; they’re all must-haves. Well, at least for now. What about my Saint Laurent leather jacket? Come on, don’t be deluded now. And I don’t want a loan – a grant is still welcome, by the way – is that clear? So I am forcing myself to keep saving up and turn a blind eye to all these private sales – you know what they can do to a healthy mind, let alone a tipsy one.

Is it easy – waiting? Ha! That’s a question, right? I mean, how do I go through the days knowing exactly what I want to do and where I need to be while at the same time being stuck in between imported Chablis and bedsores? That’s right! I cannot get up for fear of losing my dream, my only magic. Unless, of course, there’s a knock on the door and I can see a courier van from my bedroom window – must be delivering new shoes or something? No, go back to saving up.

Mon dieu, I need rosé!

I have promised I will start saving up, after I get that Burberry trench coat – how else an over-thirty is supposed to survive the rain; a smaller pair of leather trousers – I’ve been losing weight, not telling how; a pair of silver or gold heel sandals – to replace my scratched brand new Choo’s (damn nightlife in Bali); a decent watch – by decent I mean exactly Chanel première in black and silver (size S, alright); that silver Rimowa suitcase –because yeah; some stylish bits and pieces –preferably in black and; oh, I just cannot change my skincare regimen. I’m not even looking at that Saint Laurent le smoking jacket anymore – white lie, worth the shot, though! I’m merely talking about sheer essentials here, yet I am already dragged further away from my dream. And the further I seem to drift away from the realisation of my dream, the further I distance myself from reality, from the present.

And the doubts start coming in too. I’ve recently been told I just can’t wait to get away from my family, I’ve been asked why I want to leave my little ones behind and I’ve already heard rumours that even men wish they were married to my understanding husband. Even my understanding husband seems to be less so all of a sudden (it’s just me, isn’t it?) And I’m starting to question my passion, which, to be fair, is not fair on my passion! It’s completely pure and innocent –or is it?

Perhaps this is all not as noble as my original proposal seems to be; that I need to live in Paris on my own, albeit for a month or two every now and then in between living in England, because that’s the only way I can experience life and discover my true potential (or ‘impotential’) and write again – it might be my chance to start that best-selling novel, you know? Perhaps I just want an escape. Perhaps I suddenly realised I was not made for this happy family life. It used to be extremely hard for me to stay away from my children even for a day – I’d just go crazy and insecure. Perhaps I suddenly feel they’ve robbed my life and I now want it back (if you read this, children, remember what ‘perhaps’ means). Perhaps this is just a completely selfish and reckless dream, nothing more. Whatever this is, it sometimes feels like it’s either this or jumping off the cliff.

It’s that serious, yet the doubts are going stronger. I’ve turned mornings into dark nights, and I just lie here being blue, spilling my heart to you – Paris, Paris, comment vas-tu? I’ve suddenly switched from a confident diva ready to tackle anything back to a lonely little girl, the one unloved and unworthy of light, the one I’ve secretly nurtured and tried to hide. There doesn’t seem to be a cure to this Paris blue of mine. I swear I’ve kept changing my playlist, but if you have any suggestions do let me know and I’ll spotify them right away.

I’m currently locking myself up in the guest-room-cum-my-study (naked, of course) most of the time because even when I come out to have supper with everyone I’m forced to realise that I cannot live in my dream, my Paris dream – not just yet. Even a single footstep near my room makes me anxious – it could mean responsibility calling, you know? My head is currently dreamy blurred and I’d like to keep it that way, yet I’m worried I might turn from someone who thinks with logic but act without it into the opposite: someone who thinks without logic yet act with it. Now that does sound dangerous, doesn’t it?

Anyway, let’s go back to Chanel. I mean, if it’s that crucial that I make this Paris dream come true sooner than later, why on earth can’t I sell my Chanel bags to fund it? First of all, how can I be a dedicated faux Parisian without them? Never mind what How to be Parisian wherever you are says about anything bearing ‘CC’ and ‘YSL’. Secondly, each one of them is monumental proof of my hard work. OK, one of them is a birthday present from mon homme, but hey, isn’t relationship hard work? I don’t actually use them on a regular basis, but they give me a sense of completion – yes, I’m that shallow (potential admirers can take a massive step back now). Lastly, they are a black lambskin with gold hardware, a lipstick red lambskin with gold hardware and a limited edition navy blue silk with silver hardware. Yes! You finally understand, don’t you? In any case, it’s always better to have Chanel bags (and a few grand) than to have a few grand without them.

Joking aside, or rather Chanel aside, I think it is important not to step backwards when the aim is to move forwards. Oh yes, I think selling things that I treasure will be a step backward. You may argue that sometimes one needs to step back to power the jump forward, but I don’t jump – I simply strut, remember? I may step mentally backwards right now, but if I sell my Chanel bags it will confirm that I have, in fact, turned into someone who thinks without logic but act with it and I don’t think I’ll be able to live with that.

So whatever happens to ‘I will do anything for Paris’? Oh I will do anything, any step forward. But as far as I’m concerned, it should be ‘Paris and Chanel’, not ‘Paris or Chanel’!

je t’embrasse!
d.o., le 3 juin 2016

• Instagram