Sombre

A couple of vendredis (vehn-drah-dee: Fridays) ago I got stuck on the train while on my way to work on a bleak, cold, and overcast January morning.  All of the thousands of passengers on le train (luh tran: the train) were told that there had been a "technical problem" on the tracks, and that all the trains for the rest of the morning would becanceled.  Wondering just how a technical problem could cause a virtual breakdown of the Parisian railway out of Gare Saint-Lazare, it wasn't until the next week that les maitresses (lay may-tres: the teachers) at my school told me that someone had, in fact, thrown themselves onto the tracks.  Apparently--and very sadly--suicide by train is incredibly common during the sombre (som-bruh: somber) winter season.

While I don't understand (but instead feel incredibly sorry for) the desperation that suicidal people feel, I can to a much lesser extent appreciate the havoc that the cold, le noir (luh nwa: the dark), and the gloomy days of winter can play on the le cerveau (luh serv-oh: the brain).  The lack of warmth on my face, the fact that the sun starts setting during my lunch hour, and the diminishing bank account funds thanks to Christmas shopping splurges just in time to remind me that I have to file my taxes have all left me feeling a pit of solitude in my stomach and, at the risk of being overtly poetic, a pinch of cold bitterness in my soul.

Even in the most romantique (row-mahn-teek: romantic) city on Earth (or so the French keep on telling me), I can't help but wake-up every morning feeling a tinge of an emotional hangover from too much deep thinking while alone in my room at night.  No, in fact, especially in the most romantique city like Paris does one end up getting caught-up in the loneliness of winter.  In a city where everyone is supposed to be overwhelmed by beauty and love, the bare trees and nights alone in bed from December to March eventually make even the most fabulous French person feel like maybe there's something in life that's, somehow, lacking...  Lucky for me, my winter sadness doesn't leave me feeling desperate but anxious, and I end up listening to a lot of Billie Holiday and Nina Simone, certain that they're the only two women in the world who can vocalize my pain d'hiver (dee-ver: of winter).


I'm sure this sadness is just from lack of vitamin B in my veins, but it's amazing just how much janvier (jon-vee-ay: January) can remind a person how much is going wrong in their life, even when that life is full of wonderful opportunities, great friends and family, living out a dream in Paris and keeping busy all the time.  Usually it takes me until April to thaw myself out of this peril and into a happier state of mental reflection, coincidentally right around the time le soleil (luh so-lay) comes out of hiding and I can start wearing dresses again.  To all of you experiencing sunshine and 70 degree weather in California: I hate you.