Reflecting today about how this was the view I woke up to every morning 7 years ago, to date. I took this photograph from my window just before dawn — when the city was still fast asleep, and the sunlight peeked through rippled clouds.

I remember hearing the sound of the bell tolls from the Cathedral and the stirrings of life on Quai de la Tournelle: the street just below me. I remember afternoons staring up at the centuries-old wooden beams on my ceiling, wondering what they’ve seen, and the feel of the ancient creaking hardwood planks beneath my feet, and the spiral staircase leading down five floors of history, onto the cobbled sidewalks.

I recall these memories from time to time and feel a sense of bewilderment. This is the place where I suffered the most acute and agonizing loneliness and heartbreak, where I felt incapacitated by the performative pressure of everyone around me, and struggled to use my voice amidst what seemed like an insurmountable language barrier.

But, this is also the place where I fell in love, and where I would eventually find the person who would come to know the hidden recesses of my heart, despite language and cultural barriers. We used to call Paris home, but now we’ve become each others’ homes … even if it’s late night on our lopsided couch, talking about the last weird thing our babies did earlier that day.

God is a redeemer of the darkest chapters of our stories, whatever they may be. I no longer look back at this picture and feel a quiescent sadness as I used to, because I know that every part of my story (good or bad) has led me to where I am today, and I’m grateful for it.

If you’re curious about my personal story, click here to read more.

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