A Crownless Princess
by Melissa Mirza, © 2006
I'm not comfortable with pedestals. To be quite honest, I'm afraid of heights. I'd much rather be eye-to-eye so that my flaws are more easily exposed because that's the only way to really connect with someone else. I seek appreciation rather than worship. Although being worshipped isn't too shabby either...every girl should be made to feel like a princess at least once in her lifetime. A certain level of fantasy can be healthy if it instills confidence in oneself and faith in a love that retains its purity.
I experienced my fantasy five years ago in Paris , a city that breeds Romeos and Juliets. I fell in love with the city when I was 16 and fell in love in the city when I was 20. I met Mathieu the first day I arrived in Paris . He worked at the same hotel I was about to be interning at and he checked me into my room at the front desk. I experienced what I like to call my "wow moment" the second I saw him. I could barely make eye contact with him, let alone use my French to communicate.
A native of the Alsace region of France, Mathieu was also an intern at the hotel. It only took a week for all the interns to meet one another and start hanging out because all our rooms were located on the same floor. There were about 20 of us and I was the only American. Everyone else was either from various regions of France or other parts of Europe so I was already intimidated because my French wasn't nearly at their level. I was also one of the youngest at 20. Mathieu was 23 and most the other interns were also in the mid-20's range. Yet despite our differences, we did everything together. We ate our meals together, partied together, shopped together, played the role of tourist together, so it wasn't long before Mathieu and I were thrown...well..."together."
I actually had a date the night that Mathieu and I first really got to know one another. I was supposed to meet Francois, another guy that worked at the hotel (a non-intern, actually, which we soon learned was a whole other class of people) for a drink.
My father's warnings of the French being aggressive were right, much to my pleasure, but not in the creepy way that their forwardness is stereotyped. Their ideas of romance and courtship are just old fashioned and drastically different from Americans'. French women are cold and difficult because they know that if one guy doesn't treat them well then she'll meet ten more on the way home from dumping her beau, who would do anything to be with her. In the face of such fierce competition, the men don't waste any time playing games. They stop you on the street to tell you how beautiful you are, approach you in cafes to let you know they've already paid for your drink and want to take you out that night, will literally fight with their friends in front of you because they saw you first at the bar. Its unlike anything I've ever experienced. The whole summer was one big ego boost. That's not even the best part, however. Once they do have you, they never stop trying to please you . The doors never stop being held open, flowers are never given a chance to wilt, and an opportunity is never missed for them to tell you exactly everything they adore about you. The chase never ends for them because that pedestal under your feet is permanent, meaning other men can see how amazing you are and your amour had better prove he's worthy of you.
After getting off from work at the end of my first full week there, my plan was to grab a quick dinner at the employee cafeteria so I could get ready for my date with Francois . Mathieu and his Austrian roommate at the hotel, Josef, were already seated at a table and immediately invited me to join them when they saw I was alone, as was the "intern custom." It was the first time the three of us had an opportunity to talk and my quick dinner turned into a 3-hour conversation that I didn't want to leave. I was already regretting my date plans but didn't want to stand up Francois especially since he worked at the hotel too. When I stood up to leave, Mathieu asked what my plans were for the evening, which I instantly downplayed, saying I had promised to meet a friend for a drink but I'd be back later. Mathieu saw through me, however, and playfully told Josef that I'm deserting them for another suitor. Embarrassed, all I could do was laugh before running off to get ready.
I met with Francois for about two hours, just long enough so that I was not being rude before I excused myself for the evening. Back at the hotel, my phone rang in my room and it could only be one of two people on the other end, my father or Elizabeth. My best friend from high school, Elizabeth , had studied abroad in Paris that year and I was so thankful that she extended her stay once she found out I would be there for the summer. I pick up to a male voice on the other end that wasn't my father's, "Melissa? C'est Mathieu. I hope you don't mind me calling this late mais if you're still awake, I was wondering if you wanted to get un café ." Mathieu, like most of the French male interns, often spoke to me in English with a sprinkle of French out of politeness. This changed once my French skills improved and I was able to follow Parisian conversation.
We stayed up all night talking and spent every night together thereafter until the end of the summer. It was an intensity unlike any I've ever experienced. I would wake up in the middle of the night crying, feeling overwhelmed by it all and wondering how I could ever let him go after I left. Mathieu would eventually calm me down but toward the end of the summer, his tears joined mine. He would tell me that I'm perfect but not because he loved everything about me, even though he professed profusely that he did, but because I fit him perfectly. I was his princess and he was my prince, both caught up in the magic of it all.
Mathieu left Paris before I did to intern at another hotel in Bangkok . I didn't cry the day he left. I think it was because I was so happy that I had him in my life, there was no room in me to hold the sadness of reality. The day I left, however, the tears never stopped. I cried the entire plane ride home, all 16 hours, and every night for weeks and weeks after I came back. After living in a fairytale all summer, I couldn't handle reality without my Prince Charming.
Time and distance eventually numbed the pain and my fantasy started to feel less and less real. Mathieu was planning to come visit me before Christmas but, as the date of his trip grew nearer, my hesitation also grew. Doubt started to form like clouds over our perfect storybook romance. If you take Prince Charming out of his kingdom, is happily ever after still possible? And is it the prince himself I fell for or the complete package he came in? I had left for Paris frustrated and fed up by past relationships and arrived ready to meet someone new and different. Mathieu's timing was perfect and the city of love provided the ideal backdrop for it all. Knowing from the start that our time together was limited, there was more of a willingness on both sides to take risks and hold nothing back. The short time frame also never gave the level of intensity we were experiencing a chance to plateau.
Three months after our time together had come to an end, my biggest fear was that I would see him again and not feel the same, shattering the treasured image I had of our summer. I wanted to keep what we shared in Paris, where its perfection could be preserved. I was now fully immersed in my reality at home in Irvine and I didn't want it to taint my fantasy world. The only way to maintain both was to keep them separate. We could remain perfect in each other's eyes that way. My image of him could remain the same and in turn his image of me, one that I carry with me as well, would remain unchanged.
It's now five years later. Mathieu and I never saw each other again and the letters back and forth have long since stopped. We've both had other loves in our lives, much more real and much less perfect. Kissing toad after toad, none turning into a prince, I had forgotten what it felt like to be a princess. I want to remember Mathieu and how love could be as a reminder that I shouldn't have to settle for less. Being with someone who doesn't deserve you takes a toll on your own feelings of self-worth. The difference between the Mathieu's and non-Mathieu's in the world is quite clear to me now. Misguided girls chase after toads because they've given up on fairytales. Girls who were once made to feel like princesses, however, know that true princes will chase after them. Sometimes they just need to be reminded that Prince Charming isn't merely a fantasy.
The End
With one foot in LA and the other in Orange County, a heart that bleeds New York, eyes which twinkle from Parisian lights, skin tan from the Thai sun and roots in Turkey and Lebanon, I'm from no where and everywhere. I find a home in every word I write, photo I take, meal I cook, friend I make and family I love. I seek simplicity yet crave complexity. Perhaps I create the paradox just to satisfy my own analytical self. As long as I keep the dreamer in me alive and well, I know she'll keep pushing me through all the ups and downs that lay ahead.