Believe

                I almost fell asleep until my mother wake me up. “We flew 11 hours not to fall asleep, okay. Try to make yourself awake by enjoying Parisian’s point of view.”. My mom is such an enthusiasm. At first, she hates to fly. But her job forced her to fly all across the nation and that makes her love to travel and tries something new. My mom, by the way, is a photographer. She works for a travel magazine in California. Me, i actually love to hang out with my mom ̶ since she’s the only one that i have ̶ travelling and seeing something i haven’t seen before. But i hate the fact that she spends her time on her job too much. I still remember our trip to New York, where we didn’t have just a couple hours to have fun.

                So, here i am once again. Stuck in a tour bus with a bunch of strangers and an annoying tour guide. Okay we’re in Paris, but that doesn’t mean she has to tell us the name of every street that we’ve passed with that stupid microphone like it’s a big deal. I know some of the tourists feel annoyed too. I see some of them plugged their headsets and some of them are sleeping. “Ladies and Gentleman, i would like to remind you all that in a couple minutes we are going to arrive in the famous church in Paris, Cathédrale Notre Dame, as known as Notré Dame de Paris that placed in 6 Parvis Notre-Dame, Place Jean-Paul II. It’s currently raining outside. So please don’t forget your raincoat or umbrella with you.”

                Yup, our schedule today brings us to Notre Dame. I’ve never been there before. I’ve been to France but this is my first time to Paris. As i said before, my mom got no time to spend with me. But this time, her job flew us to Paris and she decided to have a ‘Mom and Daughter’ time. I doubt that would happend. “Put your sweater, we’re almost there.”. It’s drizzling outside but the temperature is quite cold. I put my sweater and packed my bag with Kool-Aid and croissant that i bought in the pastry near the hotel.

                The bus is stopping. “Okay, we’re here. You can come with me or walk by yourself to the church. We’ll meet at this point in one and a half hour later, prabably in 4:15. Let’s dig in!”. The tourists are holding their cameras and video recorder. The woman are busy powdered their face and put the lipstick. Me and my mom, we’re not that kind of woman who likes to put thick make-ups and high heels. We’re more like Scout, the tomboy girl in the book To Kill A Mocking Bird.

                I’m walking outside the bus. Tourists are eveywhere. Some of them are taking pictures. Some of them are feeding the pigeons. Some of them are sitting in a some kind of supporter bench. Some of them are taking a line to enter the church. Just when i thought we are going to take a line too, my mom said “You’ll go. I want to take some pictures of the building and the atmosphere around here. I’ll call you.”. With a camera around her neck, she left me here, alone. See? She’s just too busy for me. Then she dissapeared in the crowds, i take a line to the church. The rain is replaced with a windy weather that makes my hair tousled. Thank God, the line didn’t stand for too long. I put off my raincoat and my red barrétte.

                The church took my heart immediately. I’m in love with the stain glass that shined with the not-so-shiny sun. The silence heals my heart and i feel like i want to cry for no reason. The architecture is French gothic but it didn’t look spooky at all. The burning candles makes this vague church glows beautifully. I’m  just walking around the church when i saw someone is walking very fast on the 2nd floor. Did the upper floors are phrohibited for tourists? Maybe just the functionary of the church, i guess.

                I decided to walk towards a statue of Mother Maria. I put 2£ and lit a candle in my hands. I closed my eyes, just to feel the serenity of the church. Then, i put the candle to its place and take a sit on a wood bench. I take some pictures and suddenly a nun take a sit next to me. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”. I just nodded and  keep my head down. “Do you know the story of the huchback called Quasimodo? The bell ringer who’s adopted by the Archdeacon of Notre Dame, Claude Frollo?”. I tried to remember the story that i’ve seen on the TV. “You mean the story about the gypsy called Esmeralda?”. She let a juncture on our conversation. “Yes, the dancing woman! You know the story, aren’t you?”. “I guess so, why?” i answered. “You’ll find out when you believe.”. Then she get up from the bench and touch my hands. Her hands are cold and fragile, just like my grandma’s hands. I get up too. Walking and walking while thinking about the conversation i had with the nun.

                I take a glimpse at my watch. 3:43 P.M. I guess my mom will go to the church after i finished my little tour in here. So i decided to sit facing the tapestry and the Jesus Crist. I sit myself on a wood chair, far from the crowds. I unite my arms and close my eyes. I fell on a pray.

Dear Lord on Thy holiest place

I am here, on this beautiful church in France to bend my knee and thank for the blessing Thee gave to me. For the opportunity to breathe, to see, to taste, to enjoy, and to feel the France itself. Nothing in a word could describe how much i want to thank Thee.

I am here for ask Thee to answer my prayer. My prayer for the homeless, for the one who starve, for the broken souls, for the one who’s not as lucky as me. And for the happiness and health for my angel, mom. She’s never there for me but i never want to see tears on her face. Bless us, bless Notre Dame, bless the world.

Amen

                I opened my eyes with a blinding lights. “I heard your pray. Thank you.”. A man with a big body is sitting in front of me. He is wearing a black coat, more like hoodie in his head. He didn’t see me. He’s just looking forward but his words are pointing to me. “But how. . .?”. I didn’t think i mumbled when i was praying. Or am i? “Don’t ask me how did i do that. The thing is, i’m glad that someone cared about me. I’m one of the broken soul.”. I’m sure that i heard him sobbing quitely. “No, no need to thank me. Eveybody in this world should do the same thing. You know, pray.”.He replied “God bless you.”. Then he left as fast as he came. Okay, first is a nun and now a mysterious man talked to me? Did i miss something?

̶ You’ll find out when you believe

                Does she mean the Quasimodo? But the story took a line at the year around 1480 and there’s  no way that Quasimodo is still alive. “There you are! I’m looking for you everywhere!”. Mom snapped me from my own mind. “I saw you from the distance. You talked to yourself? Because i think i saw you talking but no one is around you. I know you never say your prayers.”. I got this little heart attack when my mom told that to me. “What do you mean i was talking to myself? There’s someone in front of me. A man with a black hoddie!”. I thought my mom is lying about all of this thing, but the way she looks at me tell me that she’s telling the truth. There’s a long gap on our conversation. So my mom decided to pray (and take some pictures, no doubt) in the front row.

                You’ll find out when you believe. Maybe that’s the key. Does the nun is trying to tell me that Quasimodo and this whole Notre Dame story is real? I used to believe in fairytales. But i figured out that life is not like the movies and happy ever after don’t exist. I grew up and it makes me turn into a realistic mind. Besides, if Quasimodo is still alive, he must be a hundred years old. Some kind impossible, but if you believe, nothing’s possible.

                “I’m done, honey! Now let’s go back to the bus or else we’ll be left behind.”. Mom is walking next to me, without even taking pictures. An unusual thing to happend. As we are no longer in the church, i ask my mom “Mom, if i tell you a story, maybe some kind of fairytale. And if i tell you that it’s real, do you believe me?”. I asked seriously but she’s laughing so hard like i was joking. “Mom, i’m serious about what i’m saying.”. But she don’t stop laugh. “Honey, there’s no such thing as ghosts, fairytales, and princess, or others from your deepest imaginations.”

                I actually believe in my mom’s opinion. But something makes me want to believe about this whole unbelieveable story. So then i close my eyes, whisper in my heart. ‘I believe in you, Quasimodo’

                Then suddenly, the bells ringing loudly right above us. A sign.

Inspired by the famous story by Victor Hugo