I ended up in Paris by chance. I left Spain because there were no jobs and salaries were far too low. I worked as a journalist making 400€ a month. A friend of mine who worked in Paris helped me find a job as a Spanish-speaking journalist, so I decided to move to the City of Lights. Four months later, the company made the jobs of all the members of the international departments useless. I found myself without a job in a foreign country whose language I didn't speak.
It was hard to find Spanish-speaking employment, so I found work in a big restaurant on the Champ Elysées. At the time, I thought it would be the hardest job I would ever have to do. I worked too many hours, it was physically demanding, the people there did not bother to call me by my name, they called me "España" or "L'espagnol", and there were rats and cockroaches all over the floor! At the end of each day, I used to go back home and cry. After I stopped working there I did many other little jobs. I worked night shifts at a supermarket, I cut meat at a tapas restaurant, I made crêpes in the street, I even worked for three months on a zero-hour contract in another restaurant. I was physically and mentally exhausted. I told myself I would find one last job and if it went as badly as the others, I would go back to Spain. Finally, I ended up finding a good position as a receptionist in a Parisian hotel with great working conditions. At different moments in life I have questioned myself about the choices I've made. This year was very difficult, but I regret nothing. Those experiences allowed me to grow and assert myself. I still dream of going back to journalism, and I know I will make it happen.
