This piece was never intended to be public and on this blog. Is based on some notes I took a few weeks ago during a train ride. I take those sometimes in recent years. But since the reflection didn’t belong to the core topic of this blog, which is the PnB universe, it was meant to be kept private. However, after a heated discussion with P resurfacing another heated discussion a century ago, here it is.
Green flat fields passing fast through the train window. It brought back a very vivid memory. Autumn 2012, sitting in the famous TGV, the beginning of my immigration story.
A few days before, on a warm Mediterranean night, I was on my way out to meet friends when my then girlfriend called me. She was crying and feeling lonely. A couple of weeks ago she had moved to a French town for a Master’s degree. Her strategy, along with thousands of others, was to escape the post-2008 crisis impacting the country hard via studies that would strengthen her skills portfolio.
Me at that point I was looking for a job, any kind. Earlier in May I had sold my motorbike and left my small flat. Since then I was staying here and there with friends and family. Unsustainable paths everywhere. The country was a mess. Youth unemployment at 75%. Limited options, but we were still somehow optimistic, I remember. The worst was yet to come.
Announcing to me that she was going abrioad was bold but understandable. It would shake the relationship. The initial plan was blurry. Somehow trying a long distance. Me to visit her at some point. Then she would come for Christmas, etc. In that call she asked me to join her and stay for a few months instead of just visiting. I gave it a quick thought, she needed support, I had nothing to do, perhaps will get some oportunities there, I packed my bag and went.
Landing at Charles de Gaulle, only my third trip abroad at that time (the first was again in Paris, spending my student job money). There was a direct fast train from the airport to her city. I was impressed by the infrastructure. Integrated transport, easy, planned. The train on time, departing for the South, moments later, green flat fields passing fast through the train window, the view reminded me of my hometown in the spring when the farmlands are still green, flat and humid. I looked up at the screen indicating the train’s speed, somewhere around 300km. Impressive. The earth was moving fast but I was unexpectedly calm.
It’s a moment I remember very vividly. I was looking out the window and was very, very calm. I knew somehow that this was not just a visit but a new beginning. It wasn’t planned, I never thought of living abroad. I didn’t see any of the rest coming. Thirteen years later, now again on a fast train from Paris, heading North this time. Same landscape. I am thinking back on that first train departure from Paris. I feel similarly calm but different.
It’s funny in a way, I am more stable but less optimistic, life teaches lessons. Social mobility worked so far. I made more money than my parents ever had. I travelled the world, lived in places, met people, experienced things. I remember the calculations back then. Should I pay for the fast train directly from the airport, which is more convenient and saves time, or take the bus to central Paris to get the cheaper train and save 10 euros loosing 3-4 hours?
The train host interrupts my gazing, asks me which plate to serve, beef or vegetarian, and if I want champagne! I smiled; you see, work pays for first-class tickets on trains for some reason. The guy next to me has two kids and a wife, I guess, from his phone’s background. But when the screen locks, the picture changes to a solo photo of his face. Why do people put their own face as the background? Never understood that. That’s something I would comment to Pudding, I thought. Pudding is always in the background of my head, doesn't need a phone equivalent. I would never have met her without that first TGV. That made me become aware of my thoughts and start writing; it’s been a while since I did it.
I don’t know why these thoughts came, perhaps because it’s a transition year, or the quick Parisian coffee by the station with that girl from my uni that made me remember of my France period. I had rejected her back then, hope she doesn’t hold a grudge (Contrary to Pudding's belief I can say NO).
Coincidence no.1: She added me randomly two days before my trip on Instagram, we chatted a bit and I told her I was heading to Paris. She was very eager to meet, I made some time for a catch-up just before my departure. I also met another guy for a working coffee. He left our country ten years ago, first time in his very late 40s to go to Asia and teach at a university to support his family after his hotel business went bankrupt. He moved to Paris two years ago, “it’s ok, closer to home,” he said. Nice guy, we met online a few years back and Coincidence no.2: he reached out two weeks ago and wanted to discuss a potential project. I told him I’d be in Paris soon so we agreed for a face-to-face.
In his phone background was only his daughter. I don't know if there is a wife. “I am in a different stage than you, these are my final years, need to gather as much as possible before retirement.” The way of thinking of people with a financial struggling background never leaves you. They will never forget the insecurity no matter how secure they are now. Another young guy found me online last week and started asking how things are abroad, what to do, can he come, how, is it easy, etc. I tried to help him but I really can’t do much. Everyone is alone and has to find his way. Migration stories. Enough for now.
We have this silly argument with P on which of our homelands is poorer, it’s funny in a way, disastrous in another. The real argument is about choices. Of course there’s Agency, in everything there’s agency, but there’s Structure and structure is so damn hard to deal with, that’s why we are a mess now, that’s why we became a mess back then.
