Oriented
It was the Opéra Garnier that welcomed me to Paris, at a moment when I thought of myself as well-oriented, perhaps more so than at any other point in my life. As I crossed the Place de l’Opéra, I made my way down the Grands Boulevards and climbed the three flights of stairs to my apartment, and I felt like the most confident man in the world. Confident in my ability to navigate life abroad, as I have been living the past three years away from home, constantly moving, and repeatedly reinventing myself. This feeling, fortunately, didn’t just manifest itself during my first hours in the city, but stayed with me during orientation week.
The first Friday in Paris and a broken stool
The Hotel de Nevers, the monument to Moliere, the Louvre, and the Pont du Carrousel became my everyday companions on my way to school. Every morning walk felt like the most fulfilling experience; I found inspiration and motivation in every step of the way. This inspiration and recently found confidence translated into an unforgettable and ideal first week in the city of my dreams.
The Louvre as seen from the Jardins de Tuileries
Across the many buildings Sciences Po has around Saint Germain de Pres, I met the friends who have brought light and excitement to my time abroad. It was with them that I ran across the Musée d’Orsay as the characters from Bande à part, saw the sunrise from the bank of the Seine, and overlooked Montmartre at night. With them, I didn’t feel like a stranger in this city. Overflowing with confidence and determination, assured of my language abilities, academically motivated, and optimistic about my ability to navigate this challenge, I stepped into the first week of school.
Disoriented
It was at an 8 a.m. seminar on “European Political Economy” at the Boutros Boutros-Ghali room that reality dawned on me. For the first time, I saw the fragility of my confidence, I began to understand the depth of this challenge and feel the weight of distance and pressure, as I slipped down a slope of disorientation.
As the first weeks went by, I felt an unprecedented amount of academic pressure and demand. I felt intellectually challenged in every class, something that was certainly positive, but it took a toll on me; I had lost my bearings. For the first time in many years, I felt afraid to participate. I was confused by the class methodology, and faltered as the ever-growing pile of assignments and readings accumulated.
Suddenly, other things started to lose their sense. As I integrated more into Parisian life, the language —an aspect of the study abroad I had unassumingly taken for granted— became a severe limitation. My sporadic interactions with Parisians became humbling experiences, as I started to find myself less and less sure of my ability to communicate. French started to sound like gibberish, as the Verlan (reversed words), and the fluency of native speakers created a barrier. After three years of learning the language, these barriers made me feel like an imposter. Instead of finding motivation in this inherent challenge of living abroad, I unconsciously began to isolate myself.
The isolation became more profound as I failed to strike a balance, not only between my academic and social life but especially with the responsibilities that came with living alone. Canceling trips with friends due to coursework, navigating bureaucratic processes, and trying to keep up with housework became the norm for a few weeks. As I read exhaustively about the fiduciary duties under Delaware law and the varieties of capitalism, time seemed to fly by.
A foggy sunset over Montmartre
One day, I stepped outside at 7 a.m. on my way to class. As I was strolling the Rue de Richelieu, I looked up and noticed that the sky was the same hue as it had been the previous night. Four months became two, and the fear of missing out kicked in. Expectations and idealism flooded every thought that crossed my busy mind. I felt as if the Haussmann buildings had turned their backs on me, the Seine stopped flowing as I crossed it, and the Tour d’Eiffel remained forever dark so as not to be seen by me. The Paris I saw through the lens of Kassovitz and Godard, through Aznavour’s and Salvador’s voice, the Paris of the beat poets and the lost generation, that Paris, the Paris of my dreams, felt more distant than ever.
However, soon disorientation turned into reorientation.
The Catalyst of a Reorientation
If I could attribute what brought me away from this descent into a maelstrom of confusion, I would tell you it was the quiet Monday that marked the start of my fifth week in Paris. For my photography class, we were assigned to take a picture, described as “worthy of an album cover,” which we attempted almost futilely. No background seemed perfect; the gray Parisian sky didn’t help with proper lighting. We weren’t getting anywhere. On our way back to show our professor the photos we had taken, we stopped for a moment when we found the coolest wall in the 7th arrondissement. A house with a facade filled with hundreds of graffiti and small art displays, it was Serge Gainsbourg’s house! This was the perfect backdrop for our “album cover.”
We tried to pose on its door, take portraits with the lyrics of Serge’s song behind us, and even take a picture of a friend with pigeon spikes perfectly aligned with her head to simulate an urban crown of thorns. But a genius stroke, and three of us decided to tie our shoes together and jump around the street. We really weren’t hoping for an amazing composition; at this point, we were satisfied with our photos. We just wanted to laugh a little more before our next classes.
The “Wild Kids of Paris”
And their laugh-inducing shoes
As we clumsily jumped around, a man wearing a pork pie hat and white rimmed glasses laughed with us and asked what we were doing. We explained we were taking photographs for a class, and he then asked if we knew if the house was open today. Sadly, it wasn’t. He introduced himself as John, a man from Georgia who is a self-proclaimed “Serge fan” on a cultural pilgrimage around Paris. This eccentric stranger called us “the wild kids of Paris” and told us something that left a mark on all of us. “You guys are in Paris, don’t just live in it, live it, live it your way; now you’re part of my memory of this city, so live up to that responsibility.” We all made different interpretations of these inspired words; at least for me, they became the catalyst for a reorientation.
Reorientation
That night on my way back home, as I crossed the Seine, I stopped for a second and looked down the river. As boats passed by and gentle waves brushed the two banks, for the first time in a month, I stopped to reflect. At that very moment, I noticed that the disorientation I had felt wasn’t really that profound. This first month, I faced manifold challenges, but they all slowly and unassumingly built my character. Tucked in between academic stress and the solitude of independence, I had lived some of the best moments with some of the best people I had ever met.
The shock of independence had made me forget our trip to Giverny, the Aperós at the Uruguayans’ house, gigs at the Theatre Aleph, and movies at the Max Linder. It made me forget how much I was learning, how much I loved to learn, how law had become a passion, and how, just in five weeks, I had decided to apply for law school upon my return. It made me forget how much French I had spoken, how many times I had made mistakes, but learned from them. It also fogged my memories of how much I had enjoyed this newfound independence, how I had started cooking for myself and my friends, how caring for my house became not a responsibility but rather an act of self-love. Since then, my experience in Paris hasn’t been “perfect” or “idealized,” but it has at least been mine. And in this detail, I’ve found the magic of this experience.
Monet’s Gardens, Giverny
October has been an exciting month. Every week is a learning experience, whether I am in my international law or Cuban Salsa class. I keep meeting amazing friends who expose me to new ideas, backgrounds, and experiences. I’m no longer living in Paris through a stranger’s eyes; I’m not rushing myself through this experience. Now I’m enjoying every day, and I’ve realized I’ve been doing that since the start, regardless of how good or challenging it was. I have so many things to look forward to: An upcoming trip to Istanbul, a “Sentimental Value” screening at the Balzac, a Colombian dinner I’m cooking for friends, a relaxing Sunday alone at my apartment, a stroll around the Grands Boulevards at night, and a simple walk to school.
Opéra Garnier
To the reader: The beauty of this experience (at least in my opinion) lies in the fact that there is not a single one — there are many. However cliché it may sound, studying abroad holds the potential to transform your life. It may not happen to everyone the way we have idealized it, but it will certainly transform something inside of you. It will challenge you, but in the process, it will reorient you, forever leaving an imprint on your future and in your heart.
This post was contributed by Juan Rocha, Global Ambassador for Fall 2025. Juan is a College of Liberal Arts Junior participating in an exchange program at Sciences Po in Paris, France.
