The Last Days in Chicago

Chicago has been my home for years, and as I prepare to leave, a deep sense of gratitude fills me. Though the winters often bit too hard for my liking, the city’s beauty never ceased to amaze me. From the window of my apartment, I could see the endless stretch of Lake Michigan, its waters changing color with the seasons — deep blue in the summer, a silvery gray in the winter. The view has been my silent companion, a source of calm during both joyful and difficult days.

Packing my life into two suitcases felt surreal. Each item folded neatly away carried a piece of my story, yet I realized that the true memories lived within me, not in my belongings. France awaits me, with its promises of new beginnings, and everything I own that will travel with me can be carried by hand. It feels right, even necessary, to start anew without the physical weight of my past life following too closely.

Chicago has given me beautiful memories. The city has an old soul, hidden behind its modern skyline. In certain neighborhoods, the cobbled streets, historic buildings, and narrow roads make you feel like you have stepped back in time. Walking through these areas, I often imagined what life must have been like a century ago — the horse-drawn carriages, the bustling markets, the early days of the jazz age. Chicago holds onto its history proudly, and in many ways, it shaped me too, reminding me that every place and person carries a rich, layered story.

The city is vibrant, alive with an endless array of restaurants offering flavors from every corner of the world. I never had to travel far to experience something new — a Cuban sandwich from a tiny café tucked in a side street, a five-star Italian dinner on the Magnificent Mile, or a simple bowl of pho on a chilly evening. The people of Chicago matched the richness of its culinary landscape: warm, straightforward, resilient, and always ready to offer a smile or strike up a conversation. I never felt isolated here, at least not by the community around me.

Every month brought new opportunities for excitement. Festivals celebrating everything from food to music to the arts kept the city buzzing. Summers, especially, were a dream — long evenings by the lake, free concerts in the parks, food festivals filling the streets with mouthwatering smells. Even in winter, when the air froze your breath, there was a magic to the way Chicago dressed itself up for the holidays, with glittering lights and cheerful markets.

Yet, in recent years, a quiet voice inside me grew louder. Despite the city's energy, a deep loneliness had crept into my life. Friends moved away or grew distant, and my own heart began to long for something different. I spent several years searching for an answer — where could I go? What did I really want from this next chapter of my life? I traveled, researched, dreamed, and reflected. Slowly, I realized that moving overseas was not just a desire for a change of scenery; it was a step toward a fuller, richer life.

France, with its slower pace, emphasis on quality of life, and deep respect for culture and community, called to me in a way no other place did. I imagined days spent at outdoor markets, afternoons in small cafés, weekends exploring art galleries, gardens, and countryside villages. I pictured making new friends, learning new habits, and rediscovering joy in small, daily rituals. Most of all, I dreamed of feeling connected again — to people, to life, to myself.

As I sit in my nearly empty apartment, I feel a bittersweet ache. I will miss Chicago — its mystic flavor, its generous people, its ever-changing beauty. But my heart is light, full of hope for what lies ahead. Tomorrow, I will board a plane bound for Paris. With two suitcases and a mind full of memories, I am ready to say goodbye to the life I knew and embrace the life waiting for me across the ocean.

Chicago was a beautiful chapter. France will be a new beginning.