In the Louvre, my mother leads the pack. First, she brings us to a marble statue named “Winged Victory.” Grand, indeed, but apparently her lost head symbolizes some sort of conspiracy theory combined with artistic genius, which I clearly did not see. Next, we venture to see a portrait of Napoleon’s coronation. The biggest painting I have ever seen, practically the size of an Olympic sized swimming pool. But I thought everyone hated Napoleon? Why is he so celebrated in this painting? I begin to get frustrated, as we have been here for over two hours, and the Mona Lisa is nowhere in sight.

Our second day in Paris, my family and I walk to Musée du Louvre. I don’t know much about the Louvre besides that it is the museum with the large glass pyramid, and uncontrollable pickpockets commonly terrorize it. But one thing I do know: art does not interest me, especially on a rainy, sluggish day like today. When I was in about second grade, my family visited an art museum in Boston. After looking at watercolor paintings and marbles statues for what seemed like ages, my seven-year-old self could no longer stand it. I drifted away from my family and found a nice quiet room where I lay down next to an ancient Egyptian sarcophagus to take a nap. Needless to say, my displeased parents haven’t taken me to another art museum until now.

We reach the hallway of Leonardo Da Vinci’s life work. After glancing up at Saint Jean-Baptiste and La Vierge, l'Enfant Jésus et Sainte Anne, we hurry to see the greatly anticipated artwork. A small room opens up to the right. We know this is it because a sea of iPhones and Nikon digital cameras point at a wall we cannot see, and it smolders a least 10 degrees hotter in here than anywhere else in the museum. Anxious to get a glimpse at the painting, my parents push me into the crowd, signaling me to start weaving through people to get to the front. (They have been using me for this purpose since I was little- I would pretend to get separated from the family as I continually make my way forward, while my mother would “make-believe” search for her baby girl, until she ended up in the front as well.) I receive some unhappy looks from a million Asian tourists, but soon enough, I am staring at Her. And I am awestruck.

She. Is. So. Small. I space out, questioning everything I have ever encountered in this world. The pieces just don’t add up. Yes, the Mona Lisa is undeniably beautiful. Her eyes provoke mystery. Her smile shines of adverse passion. Her inky black hair falls perpetually. The gold frame sparkles harmoniously with the glint of the multidimensional paint layers. The most famous portrait of all time, inspiring generations upon generations, movies and books and architecture and art and life, all emanated from this one little painting? My mind tries to make sense of this as I take some blurry and inadequate photos of Her, and then I exit the crowd.

Hours and hours later, right before I turn the lights out to fall asleep, I understand my confusion. The Mona Lisa represents the contradiction of the vacation. The past week, my family spent every waking moment visiting large and spectacular landmarks. The Eiffel Tower serves Paris’s signature feature, giving the public beautiful views of the huge city. Huge guards riding on gallant horses larger than I ever seen surround Buckingham Palace. And the Palace of Westminster, commonly known as Big Ben, has the word “big” in its name! But the Mona Lisa is just as important as these monuments, although they are monstrous to Her in comparison, making the Mona Lisa one of a kind, and a very special lady.