A home at last. A bientôt Paris. I made it back
to the pier in Chelsea this morning feeling drowsy
yet happy and with clarity. Yes, I had to run
from my last Parisian abode in Montmartre to
Gare du Nord with a massive suitcase, a heavy
backpack, a handbag, a stick umbrella and a box
of galettes des rois less than an hour before my
Eurostar departure, having tried to get an Uber
a few times to no avail, thanks to some running
competition on my route, but I was so certain
things were going to be all right. More than
all right. Things have been more than all right,
Paris. Things have been magical. My generous
hosts and friends in Nation looked after me
wonderfully while I was staying there. I was
not only taken care of. with delicious homemade
food and fulfilling conversations in their beautiful
Haussmannian apartment, but also allowed the space
so I could write, and the freedom to go out until
late so that I had something to write. For this,
I am most grateful and enormously moved. In the
end. I got to go to La Coupole's monthly Paris
Follies night and dressed up as a single princess
and wearing a crown again (this time Russian
for the Slavic night); see a burlesque performance
with my beautiful and quirky showgirls; sit at
cafes with old and new friends for a couple of
drinks; go to friends' Indonesian restaurants
for specially reserved meals; infiltrate a furniture
brand cocktail party in Saint -Germain -des -Prés;
pretend to be an interior designer for a few
hours at Maison et Objets exhibition in Villepinte
to get shiny catalogues and totes and practice
my acting; and enjoy a jazz show at Le Bal Blomet
as a special invite by my talented pianist friend
Bastien. I even got recognized as a poet, not
a millionaire yet. by an Indonesian bookshop
owner who is currently studying at La Sorbonne
while I went to a restaurant by myself. In the
end, I got to drink red wine and fussy with white,
alone, making notes on my smart Moleskine papers
or reading in the middle of people watching.
In the end, I got to walk Parisian streets, a
lot of Parisian streets, alone, in the heart-warmingly
mild January weather that I didn't get a chance
to wear tights under my skirts and dresses when
I wasn't wearing my baggy jeans, breathing in
the love and stories available to me, exhaling
my doubts, sometimes buying second-hand books
and always catching flash invaders. In the end,
I didn't skip a single running day or writing
day. A decade has passed since Imagined Paris'
first love letter, yet some people still ask,
why Paris? And I could never respond with more
than, 'because I was reborn in Paris', 'because
I feel at home in Paris', or 'because most of my
friends are in Paris'. But, as salty water went
upstream into my eyes from inhaling traces of
my soul back in my solitary Parisian walks, I
can now say: in the end, I have a physical place
I could call home. And that is huge, because
though it was noble and all to call my heart
a home, my heart doesn't mind letting her hair
down every so often. My heart doesn't mind simply
existing without the burden of providing freedom
and joy. Because freedom and joy are given when
she's in Paris. Because in Paris, she is fully
open. I now feel so embraced while embracing
all my Parisian phases--the 'young and abandoned'
Dina, the 'unhappily married' Dina, the 'reborn
and rebellious' Dina, the 'single and not on the
dating apps' Dina, the 'insatiable Londoner girlfriend'
Dina, and the current phase I haven't got a label
for yet. The 'current phase' Dina is untethered.
Free. She is so free she isn't afraid of opening
the old band-aid slowly, airing the wounds and
redressing and healing them by giving them a
voice. A few hundred words at a time. She is
so free she gives herself permission to be soft
and to breathe and walk slowly as if not having
a purpose. Because the purpose is to be free.
The purpose is done and it's time to live it
and keep on becoming because of it. To the 'current
phase' Dina, home is where freedom is. And she
feels most free in Paris. She can call Paris
her home--a physical, emotional and metaphysical
home. I'm home at last! londres, le 18 janvier 2026, je t'embrasse!