Jealous of Paris
<p>When my parents lived in <em>Amsterdam</em> 23 years ago, they traveled all around Europe and stumbled across a small town in southern Spain — it was recommended to them by their then boss. He told them that it was a beautiful place that always smelled like oranges, had wonderful wine, and was populated by an eclectic selection of architecture — most importantly, he said the most redeeming feature of <em>Sevilla </em>was that it was always bathed in sun. However, when my parents, young and in love, arrived in that small city, it rained for three days straight. Despite the awful weather, they were enamored by the city’s quirky roads, mosaic windows, and spontaneity. On the fourth day, they stood on the train platform waiting to depart: that was when the clouds parted and the city’s glorious daylight finally revealed herself. As my namesake, I wonder what that says about me.</p>
<p><a href="https://medium.com/@sevillajin2/jealous-of-paris-71c0cbb3ee81"><strong>Read More</strong></a></p>