I like French. There's something magical to the music and vibe this language has. Plus, it was the one my grandma knew. And the reason I tried to learn it as best as I could.
I like Paris. There's something magical to the atmosphere of this city. Plus, when I've been there (only twice, definitely not enough), the timing was right, I felt really good, not overwhelmed by any emotions (meaning: not in love with anyone, not devastated after any breakup, not feeling sad after someone's death), just enjoying the air. And smiling.
I don't like violence. Which sounds a bit two-faced, since I use violence. Not the extreme end, but I raise my voice when angry. Trying to stay composed all the time doesn't work.
Just making sure it doesn't aim at my children's wellbeing. That doesn't work either, not all the time. I sometimes raise my voice when I explain something to them. Patience has its limits. Sometimes the line is too thin.
Now, if you put together French, Paris, and violence today - it's sad. Freedom no longer. There is fear in place. And yes, anger, and irritation. And pain, and suffering.
I am probably one of the hundreds of millions of people now writing about this.
That doesn't really matter.
What's most important, none of these people, me included, cannot turn back time.
And ease the suffering. Or pain.