Joie de vivre.

 Joie de vivre (joy of living) is a French phrase often used in English to express a cheerful enjoyment of life; an exultation of spirit.

Being Valentine’s Day, I've chosen to devote one more post to romance; as it has been said previously (numerous times), I am the quintessence of hopeless romantic. Therefore, what better occasion to celebrate romance? Or lack thereof. Once more, don't fret guys, I am not here to hold you responsible for the lack of romance in our lives. "Our" being men and woman equally. I'd like to argue my position by first introducing (none other than the city of love), Paris. I'd now like to initiate a game of what came first, the chicken or the egg? Are the inhabitants of Paris romantics because they’ve inherited the characteristics from the city of love? Or is Paris known as the city of love because its citizens are so romantic?

A Parisian man will kiss his woman at every street corner. He'll hold her hand across the dinner table throughout the entire meal. They will engage in long, long walks, ultimately ending up at a random cafĂ©. He will cuddle her as if no one else is around, sitting mutually on the same side of the table. And she will allow him. Together they will display every public display of affection and not one person will complain or roll their eyes because this is normal behaviour. They are not rude or inappropriate in any way. They perform with grace and at ease as true romance should be played.  This scene will be repeated frequently in a day, by different couples. Most importantly, the French prefer brains over beauty. They are stimulated by intellectual traits and unique confidence.
In Montreal I rarely encounter a relationship which causes me to want to run home and sign up to online dating so I too might find my Prince Charming. Instead we are surrounded by crowds of men together (gay or straight you can never be sure nowadays), assemblies of females indulging in girls night, and the occasional diverse male/female pack. However, even with the latter, it is rarely evident if two people are lovers. In this city there is a very fine line between friends, two people in love and two people simply fucking; I fear that Montreal has forgotten the existence of romance. We have become too independent to hold hands. We're too emotionally involved with our smart phones to pay attention to each other at dinner. As females, we've become too concerned with our image to allow acts of PDA, afraid of how we'll be judged. Together we've lost all our manners to kiss in public without coming across as desperate. My dear Montreal, there is a difference between a passionate kiss and dry humping. And sadly, the majority of the city is generally more concerned with physical qualities as opposed to personality and behaviour.

Within forty eight hours of my first trip to Paris I received twenty-eight roses from a Parisian man. I've lived in Montreal for almost thirty years and not once have I received anything resembling the same performance. I love this city, but I am afraid the hopeless romantic in me will never be satisfied here.

**I need to give credit to one of my very best friends for helping me write this. I miss her dearly and I don't like to admit it, but she made a smart move when she moved to Paris.

28 roses from a Parisian man.

No comments:

Post a Comment