Wednesday, February 06, 2008

Two Week Notice (bye bye)

Dear Friends, neighbors, and valuable customers (sic),

With this letter I officially present you my 2 week notice, starting last Tuesday. On Feb 12th (yes, next week), I will fly out of the country, thus resuming my previous status as a "NYC F***ing tourist." I will move out of the US, to the UK.
Some of you already know and can stop reading here. For the others still on a lunch break, here is my 2 cent semi-introspective goodbye note, so it looks like I've actually been doing some thinking, for a change...


It all began 6 something years ago, the day I set foot on the Land of the Free. That night, I took a carriage to the remote lands of Dutchess County and started sprinkling proper French grammar over the unwilling heads of under aged Vassar students. The following year, memories of Washington D.C. piled on top of my teaching experiment, above which layered flashes of Puerto Rico, Italy, France and Mexico. In 2003, 2 years after I had started exploring the beauties of American suburbia lifeforms, I left for the Big Apple.
Dec 10, 10.45 am: I stepped out of kick boxing class with a dismantled jaw and a phone number. Catherine Price, former Brooklynite and social hub emeritus, had just punched hard enough for me to draw 2 life changing lessons:

a. no matter how weak your hook and how bad your English, there were friends to be made out there.
b. when the instructor shouts "DUCK !" he doesn't necessarily mean you should take a pause to admire flocks of birds flying by the window.

From that day on, I started to befriend people in the most random locations/ situations. Be it on a subway platform at 5 am, at the wrong house warming party (I've splurged on an agenda and written down proper addresses since,) in a night club while reading a book, or while browsing online for a dentist (although that day I ended up meeting a nitrogen cook.) Then there were friends of friends, people it took 6 month to realize I had actually met when I was 15, and whose parents had met mine when they where 15. And whose mom randomly met my granpa' on a public bench last summer outside of Paris.
All these people, or rather all of you people, are the reason why it is now so hard to leave. But let's face it: lots of you have already fled the country and with my family growing on the other side of the Pond, time has come to move back closer to "home." (I hate to sound cheesy, but sometimes Blood calls louder than you think.) So for now I will settle in London, a city conveniently located near Paris (but not too close to Parisians,) Vienna (so I can watch my nephew grow) and near lots of little islands and tiny countries at I have yet to discover. It is also where my chéri lives, so I figured it couldn't be THAT bad...

As Laurent Voulzy sang the definition of Love in his oh so cheesy-romantic melodic charade, here is to six something years in Wonderland, and to the friends made while living there.

Mon 1er, c'est Désir
Mon 2eme, du Plaisir,
Mon 3eme, fait Souffrir.
Et mon tout fait des souvenirs...

I will drink away my sorrow -and my fear of flying- this Friday night with whoever is around/ in need of an excuse to binge.
Bye bye, and hope to see you all again soon !!

Xo,Maïa