Mon Amour

New Orleans is one of those places people visit and unknowingly, they forget. They forget about their boring lives and their beige houses and their bland jobs. The people that come here forget about being uptight or cold and learn to answer questions like, "How's ya momma an'em?" from smiling a stranger. They forget about the world of alcohol laws and crosswalk sections and learn to dance in the street. They stop counting calories, forget their diets, and learn the true meaning of the word "lagniappe". These people forget about time and schedule-keeping and learn to float on the humid, fragrant air as we do. More importantly, people come here and forget who they are at home and learn to be who they want to be. While the locals are applying their masks, the tourists are removing theirs. It's beautiful to watch someone peel back the layers of themselves that they despise and smile from the inside, out.



I like to believe that the geography angels adore me because I was born here, in New Orleans. I was blessed with music in my soul and paint in my heart. I am an artist. We all are. Even your everyday lawyers, teachers, doctors, etc., go home to rainbow streets. Streets where every house is a different color and none of them are white. Sure, we have white houses too, but most are so special that you walk away feeling inspired. These century-old houses were built with pride by people with a dream. The artistic flare and love can be seen in the wood and iron embellishments so intricate that you wonder if anyone else even notices. And every neighborhood, even the poorest, is blanketed in a sea of beautiful green. We love our plants and vines and let them grow as they please. In the spring, when the flowers awake, you feel as though you're walking through a secret garden. God's mural painted just for you.


I'll admit, not everyone loves New Orleans. Some people feel as though it's a place of mazes that they can't escape. They look around and see old buildings and dirty streets as just that, old and dirty. They claw and fight their way out this muddy hole and you know what? They miss her. They brag about her to their foreign friends and vacation here as much as possible. They crave the food and sing songs that most wouldn't recognize as the English language. They paint their new homes in bright colors and hang enormous, glittered wreaths on their front doors for each holiday. These lost, New Orleans people don't understand why the neighbors cringe when they proudly display a purple, green, and gold mask in January. They feel neglected when the neighbors run from them every time they scream "WHODAT" from across the yard. They get their feelings hurt when the neighbors refuse to eat boiled crawfish or answer questions about their families and jobs. Sadly, it just takes a short while for these lost souls to realize that as much as they didn't like it in New Orleans; they don't quite fit in anywhere else. That's when the love and appreciation grow stronger than ever before and they find themselves singing Louis Armstrong's "Do You Know What it Means to Miss New Orleans".


I have always loved New Orleans. I love her culture and her people. I can see her for what she is. She is passion and light. She is open arms and accepting eyes. New Orleans is crisp, cool days in the sun and the sound of children laughing. New Orleans is creativity and soul. New Orleans is a place to forget. A place to learn. A place to remember. New Orleans is me and I am New Orleans. New Orleans is...Mon amour.