Lost

I miss Paris.
No wait, not Paris.

I miss that feeling.

That feeling of being in a foreign environment where noone knows your name and noone speaks your language and you're just that "mademoiselle" in the khaki safari dress strutting down the street (rue?). The adrenalin releases itself into your blood through a pin hole, drop by drop. The surreality of not being in Singapore is so powerful that you think the limestone wall in front of you is gonna crumble and reveal that it's all just a stage, and you never left the sunny shores (Truman Show much?). And it all feels like a dream until finally you find yourself staring up the Eiffel Tower in all it's glory, or watching the french flag billow from inside Arc de Triumph.

Then I get on that plane and a little part of me dies on the inside.

And I'm just counting the days till I get back on that jet.