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It's hard enough saying goodbye to home. Your friends, family, colleagues, dog, hamster, kitchen sink, etc etc are left behind. That's about as much fun as having your teeth drilled sans Novocaine while taking a math test with someone singing Depeche Mode off-key behind you to "set the mood". (I know. Pretty bad.) But, having friends over here is no easier imho:
1) You both love Paris.
Something happens when you meet expats here, a kind of... "Ahhh yes, I know how you feel" bond is formed about the city. You swap favorite addresses, try new places together and it's inevitable that you feel a certain attachment to those places with those people.
Then, they leave, and you go back to those places. Man, that sucks. There you are, missing people from your old home, and new one. Nothing to be done but bitch and moan to your expat buddies until *they* announce that their own departure from sanity and Paris.
2) You both hate Paris.
Another thing happens: you bitch about the French. Nahnahnahnah.... I love the French, so wag that finger at someone else. But, you can't tell me that you don't have an irrepressible urge to whine about them from time to time when you're an expat in Paris. Dahdahdah, ya do. Period.
Chalk it up to cultural differences, there's always something that will irk you, no matter your origin. The day will come when an atrocious thing (like walking in poo, or watching naked neighbors, or generally too much saliva) will happen to you that an expat friend told you about. All you want to do is go to your favorite bar, sip your favorite drink and bitch to them about how batshit crazy this world is and how you fully understand why people sometimes try to jump off the Eiffel Tower to get away from it.
3) You start sifting.
Paris is on everyone's bucket list, am I right? So people come and go. I've started asking "How long are you here for?" as a means to cope.
What I mean by this question is really something more like "If you turn out to be an awesome person and I want to you to be my BFF, are you going to rip my heart out, spit on it's still beating last moments, and then do the mexican hat dance around it by leaving 6 months after we buy matching necklaces??"
4) Another one bites the dust
Before you know it, you're wrackin'em up. One after another and you start thinking to yourself, "Damn. I've said more goodbyes here than I did at home". Total Paris Buzz-kill.
Any expats out there feeling this post?