tumbling after You

Paris Syndrome.

From Wikipedia:

Paris syndrome (French: Syndrome de Paris) is a transient psychological disorder encountered by some people visiting or vacationing in Paris and more generally France and Spain […] Japanese visitors are observed to be especially susceptible […] According to an administrator at the Japanese embassy in France, around twenty Japanese tourists a year are affected by the syndrome.

Paris Syndrome is characterized by a number of psychiatric symptoms such as acute delusional states, hallucinations, feelings of persecution, derealization, depersonalization, anxiety, and also psychosomatic manifestations such as dizziness,  tachycardia, sweating, etc.

The susceptibility of Japanese people may be linked to the popularity of Paris in Japanese culture, notably the idealized image of Paris prevalent in Japanese advertising, which does not correspond to reality […] It is also speculated as manifesting from an individual’s inability to reconcile a disparity between the Japanese popular image and the reality of Paris.

Last night, my friends and I witnessed the loss of a life, or at least the immediate moment following, right before our eyes. I will spare the gruesome details. But it was one of those traumatic experiences that I don’t think I’ll ever forget for the rest of my life. We were all at a loss for words and shaken to the bone. And in that moment there was nothing I could do but grasp onto my cross necklace, bend over in prayer for incomprehensible peace, and clasp my eyes tight in hopes of escaping the tragedy outside.

A sleepless night, and it was morning again. But as I warily walked by the spot where a lifeless body lay just a few hours ago, there was nothing. No evidence of the event that befell the night prior. No memorial. No mourning. No significance. It was just business as usual. Busyness as usual.

I shivered at the pitiful value of human life and the anonymity of it all. And after awhile, I even found myself quickly falling back into the groove of life. I don’t know how I’m supposed to be feeling or whether it’s better not to linger on it. But I know that God made me see what I saw for a reason, and I don’t want to so easily forget.

When you peel away the glitz and the glam of the most romantic city in the world, you’re left with an uncomfortable picture of a people in desperate need of a Savior. And suddenly, I could understand the feelings of those Japanese tourists upon discovering the disparity between fantasy and reality. Don’t get me wrong, I still love this city. There is still beauty and hope here. But God effectively ruined any possibility of it ever becoming an idol in my life.

Even the City of Lights has its dark corners that cannot be illuminated, except by the One True Light.