When I moved to Paris around seven years ago from Toronto, I arrived woefully unprepared.

I anticipated homesickness. Language barriers. And loneliness. But naively, I failed to consider the challenge of being a visible minority in a country where race relations are fraught with tensions.

I would soon learn that under the veneer of cosmopolitan diversity, lies an undercurrent of long-simmering fear and distrust that manifest themselves in often nuanced, sometimes patently racist ways.

In his victory speech Sunday, Emmanuel Macron vowed to unify the fractured, divided country he’s inherited as the new president of France.

But it’s a mammoth undertaking that will require some honest soul-searching. And I’m hoping it will lead to — what I, an outsider, sees as — the root of one of the country’s problems: namely, the lack of integration.

Consider the fact that many of the terrorists who carried out the spate of attacks in 2015 — the Charlie Hebdo offices, Jewish grocery store, Bataclan and the Stade de France — were not immigrants, but homegrown terrorists and French nationals.

While the Front National uses a discourse of fear to incite distrust toward Muslim immigrants, little is said about the fact that it was their own — disenfranchised, French-born men — who carried out the deadliest attacks on French soil.

And it’s not just Islamophobic sentiment that divides the country.

In recent years, the Chinese community in Paris has been taking to the streets to protest what they call institutionalized racism at the police and national level, following a rise in hate crimes and a police shooting that killed a Chinese man in his apartment.

Asians are seen as soft, easy, visible targets, who are flush with cash, won’t fight back or file complaints due to language barriers. Despite the rise in hate crimes, the government is accused of failing to address their concerns and treating the community as second-class citizens.

After a personal experience in which the local police failed me, I sympathize with their fight.

A few summers ago I hosted five Asian girlfriends visiting from Canada. We were on the Champs-Elysées when one of them had her wallet stolen. When I approached a police officer on patrol to explain in French what happened, he scanned the group and said, “What do you want me to do about it?”

It was a dismissive, arrogant attitude that clearly passed judgment on the fact that we were a group of Asian women on the Champs-Elysées. As far as he was concerned, we had simply experienced a rite of passage for wealthy Chinese tourists visiting Paris.

Over the years, I’ve come to understand that in France, the first thing they see is my otherness. When I tell people I’m from Canada, the most common followup question is, “No, where are you really from?”

While I’m happy to clarify my ethnic origins (Korean), questions like these suppose that I can’t possibly be anything but Asian.

During a group exercise for the Red Cross where I volunteer, Chinatown was depicted as a circle with two angled lines for eyes. I have French friends who characterize Asians by our “yeux brides,” or slanted eyes.

I have been forced to confront identity issues I never had to deal with in Toronto, which makes me ask: Has living in Canada made me overly sensitive? As a Canadian, am I manifesting political correctness run amok?

While waiting in line to apply for my sixth consecutive residence permit in Paris recently, I got to commiserating with an Indian man about the renewal experience. When he learned I was Canadian, he furrowed his brow and in an almost accusatory tone asked, “Why are you living in France when you could live in Canada?”

The question threw me. Because, if I’m going to be honest, it’s the same question I’ve been asking myself over the last few years, particularly during my annual pilgrimages home when I reconnect with friends, family, and fellow Canadians.

While once I was a starry-eyed francophile bewitched by the undeniable beauty of this city, I’ve since awoken from the spell after one too many unpleasant exchanges and a general level of civility that can sometimes leave you hardened and jaded for days on end. A civility I feel has been eroding since the post-terrorist attacks.

So why am I still in Paris? Because, despite all that, I’ve built a quiet but lovely life for myself here. As an aspiring writer and part-time dreamer, I’ve never been as inspired and creative as I have been since living in France.

After arriving with nothing — no job, friends, and a questionable hovel of an apartment — I worked hard to find a job as a food and travel editor, and have gained a small but loyal and wonderful group of French friends.

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Like any long-term relationship, one doesn’t just throw in the towel because of a few bumps. And quitting is not in my repertoire.

On that last visit to the visa office, I was unexpectedly given a 10-year residency permit, akin to a commitment ceremony. After enviously watching the French cast votes in this election, I am looking at applying for dual French citizenship. Because knowing that a good majority of the French population voted against the extreme-right party Sunday is an encouraging sign for, not only my future in France, but for all visible minorities.

Vivian Song is currently a food and travel editor, who eventually hopes to be able to live half the year in Paris and the other half in Toronto.

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