When Paris first came into view, it did not feel entirely real. The gloomy city appeared to be suspended somewhere between imagination and reality. Cobblestone streets I had only seen in films. The hum of convoluted languages I did not fully understand. The quiet confidence of people who moved as if they belonged exactly where they were. And yet, there I was, alone, stepping into a version of my life I had never lived before.
For most of my life, I had moved through the world alongside my twin sister. Our experiences – academic, social, and personal – were often shared, intertwined, and mutually reinforcing. We were a unit, a constant presence in each other's lives. So when I made the unprompted decision to study abroad at Sciences Po during my Winter semester of 2025, it felt like stepping outside of a lifelong pattern. It was not just a geographical departure from home, it was an emotional and existential one.
I found myself encountering another version of myself abroad, one shaped not by familiarity and shared identity, but by independence, uncertainty, and self-reliance. This other me was not entirely foreign, but she was unfamiliar enough to feel like a stranger.
The version of myself I met in Paris was independent in a way I had never seen before. Without my twin sister, I no longer had the quiet reassurance of someone who instinctively understood me. Every decision – where to go, what to eat, how to navigate the metro, how to introduce myself to new people – felt entirely new to me.
At first, this newfound independence felt heavy. I noticed it in small moments: Sitting alone at a cafe, ordering in broken French and hyperfixating on my pronunciation, walking through unfamiliar neighborhoods without someone to confirm that I was going the right way. These moments, though ordinary, felt amplified because I was experiencing them on my own.
Yet slowly, something shifted. The solitude that initially felt like absence began to feel like space, space to think, to observe, to become. I began to realize that this version of myself was not lacking anything, she was simply unaccompanied. And in that unaccompanied state, she was learning to trust herself. This other me was more willing to take risks. She spoke even when unsure, navigated even when lost, and engaged with people from different cultures without the safety net of familiarity. She was not fearless, but she was courageous in quieter, and more deliberate ways.
There were moments when I recognized myself clearly in this new environment. My curiosity, my passion for learning, and my commitment to understanding complex global issues remained constant. At Sciences Po, I immersed myself in courses like Comparative Contract Law, Neoliberalism, and EU perspectives on digital privacy. These academic pursuits grounded me, they reminded me that, regardless of where I was, my intellectual identity remained intact.
But there were also moments of divergence. The version of myself in Paris was less dependent on external validation. Without the familiar structures of home, professors who knew me, peers who recognized me, and the shared identity with my twin, I had to define myself on my own terms.
This divergence became especially apparent in social spaces. At home, introductions often came with context: who I was, where I was from, who I was connected to. In Paris, I was simply myself, no qualifiers, no pre-existing narratives. When people asked where I was from, I represented not just my city or my university, but my country. And in those moments, I became aware of how others saw me: as an American, as a student, as someone navigating a global space.
This awareness was both empowering and disorienting. I began to see how identity shifts depending on context. At home, I was part of a pair, part of a community. Abroad, I was singular, representative, and sometimes even stereotyped. The relationship between my “home self” and my “abroad self” was not one of opposition, but of dialogue. They observed each other, questioned each other, and ultimately reshaped each other.
My home self viewed my abroad self with a mix of admiration and disbelief. How did I get here? How did I find the courage to leave behind everything familiar? There was a sense of pride in knowing that I had stepped outside of my comfort zone in such a significant way.
At the same time, my abroad self looked back at my home self with a new perspective. I began to understand how much of my identity had been shaped by proximity, to family, to my twin, to familiar environments. I saw the value in those connections, but I also recognized the importance of existing independently from them.
Others, meanwhile, saw me through entirely different lenses. In classrooms filled with students from around the world, I was one voice among many, contributing to conversations about global governance, law, and social policy. My peers brought perspectives shaped by their own cultural and national contexts, and in those exchanges, I became more aware of my own positionality.
Traveling beyond France, to places like Brussels, London, Athens, and Marrakech, further expanded this awareness. Each location presented a new context in which to understand myself. In some places, I blended in more easily; in others, I stood out immediately. These shifts reinforced the idea that identity is not fixed, it is relational, shaped by where we are and who we are with.
Paris itself played a crucial role in this transformation. The city demands a certain level of engagement, it invites you to observe, to reflect, and to participate. Whether sitting along the Seine, navigating the metro, or engaging in academic discussions, I was constantly interacting with my environment in ways that required presence and awareness.
There was something about being in a place so rich with history, culture, and intellectual tradition that made self-reflection almost inevitable. At Sciences Po, I was surrounded by individuals committed to understanding and shaping the world. This environment challenged me to think more critically, to question assumptions, and to consider perspectives beyond my own.
But perhaps more importantly, Paris gave me the opportunity to exist outside of expectation. Without the roles I typically occupied at home, I was free to explore who I was without predefined boundaries. This freedom was both exhilarating and unsettling, but ultimately, it was transformative.
Returning home, I realized that the goal was not to choose between my “home self” and my “abroad self,” but to integrate them. The independence I developed in Paris did not replace my connection to my twin or my community; it enhanced it.
I came back with a deeper understanding of myself, not just as someone who can thrive in familiar environments, but as someone who can navigate the unfamiliar with resilience and confidence. I also returned with a greater appreciation for the relationships that have shaped me, recognizing that independence does not diminish connection; it strengthens it.
In many ways, the version of myself I met in Paris had always existed. She had simply never been given the space to fully emerge. Studying abroad created that space, it allowed me to step into a fuller, more complex version of who I am.
Like Baldwin’s experience of encountering himself abroad, my time in Paris revealed that distance can clarify identity in unexpected ways. By stepping away from home, I was able to see myself more clearly, not as part of a pair, but as an individual with my own strengths, uncertainties, and aspirations.
The “other me” I met in Paris is no longer separate from who I am. She is a part of me now, present in the way I approach challenges, engage with others, and understand my place in the world. And perhaps the most surprising realization of all is this: the thing I once found hardest to believe – that I could go somewhere so far, so different, and so independent – has now become one of the most defining truths about who I am.
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