Part 2: Chapter 3-Sad, but not too sad.

Chapter 3

     It's so quiet in my apartment. This past Friday was my last day with my students. I promised myself a week ago that I wouldn't cry, at least not in front of my students. I did my lessons, explaining to each of my classes that today was my last day and I thanked them for the honor of teaching them this past year and that I hope to see them next year. One of my students, a British senior who took me on a tour my first day and has consistently been a kindness and bright light in my life, hugged me and said it has been an honor to know me and that I am an amazing person and an amazing teacher and that it is his every hope that our paths cross again. I said goodbye to all of my colleagues, and thanked them for making me feel so welcome. Then I taught my last class. My last class which was with the first teacher/ person I met here, my first friend. These students were so sweet to me that I felt at peace that even though I was nervous and to some extent afraid, everything was going to be just fine. So at the end of the class the teacher allowed me to 'give a speech'. I definitely wasn't ready for that. My voice shook as I thanked them for being a part of making my dream come true. For being a part of what has been the greatest year of my life. I felt my eyes water and took a deep breath. 'Thank you' was all I could say. We took a picture and I walked out of the building regulating my breath and hoping to God that I get to walk back through those doors again.

     I am accepted to the program for next year, but the only information I really have is that I will be in the same area. I am not sure if this means I will be here at JB Darnet, or in the bigger town of Limoges. I want to state very clearly that I really hope I return here to St Yrieix. I love this town, I love this school, I love my colleagues, and the students. I love so much about this place. I really could live here. Small town and all. It would make me so happy. Limoges is a bus/ train ride away and nearly everywhere I could want to go is a bus/ train ride from there. I have friends here now, genuine friends who were really sad that I am leaving. My roommate, Lionel, who is pretty much my best friend here. Lionel has shown me such kindness and is a pretty awesome wingman...even though he had no idea what the term meant. I have made another friend through him and I adore him wholeheartedly. I am grateful every day for everything that is happening in my life and it is going to be hard to say goodbye (if only for a few months).

     This year has been such an adventure and I am so grateful that I have been able to travel as a part of it. So as I approached my last vacation I decided to go to a part of this country that I hadn't visited yet. I visited Bordeaux, wine country. I am not typically a fan of wine, however, I wanted to explore a bit. So I booked a trip and included a half day excursion to some vineyards. I wasn't expecting to enjoy Bordeaux very much, but it seemed like a cool place to go. So when I arrive, the bus parking was in a part of town covered in graffiti and I had to walk quite a ways to my hostel. (I am addicted to staying in hostels at this point, it is the only way I will stay now.) However, as I continued to walk I began to see these beautiful doorways, and the exquisite architecture, and the river. I had no idea so my smile just kept getting bigger and bigger as I walked. There was so much diversity there. I finally found my hostel (which was mere meters from a small wine museum. It was just a door, but as I was welcomed in it looked like I was walking into a castle where the hallway was made of stone. I mentioned it and the hostel manager informed me it used to be a wine house. That's why all of the roads next to the river run perpendicular to it so that the wine merchants could just roll the barrels straight onto the ships at the docks. It was a great hostel. I ate pizza at this little whole in the wall pizza place and chatted with the owner, who had traveled all over the world with the military but decided to return to his roots in Bordeaux to follow his true passion of making pizza. 

     As I went to sleep that night I decided to catch up on a bit of Walking Dead since I can't access it on the school server. As I was in the middle of an episode I heard a man next to me snoring...loudly. There were about 12 of us in there and it was so loud it drowned out Rick. I looked over, but I brought headphones for a reason. I saw a man toss his hands in the air, get up and attempt to wake the snoring man up. The snoring man freaked out and started swinging. A string of expletives and a lot of confusion started spewing from the poor guy. Wanting no part of the drama, I shrugged and went back to my episode. The guy went back to his bed and the snoring man was still there just completely confused. Eventually, he went back to sleep...and back to snoring. I woke up the next morning and before I was even dressed the snoring guy approached me and after asking if I spoke English, asked me what had happened. I gave him a brief summary. 

"Was it that bad?" 

"Yeah." 

"I had no idea what was going on man I just felt this dude's hand heavy on my chest and I freaked." "Yeah, I caught that part. You were screaming at him. I mean I don't blame either of you." 

"Well, did I stop snoring?" 

"Yup...for about ten minutes." 

He started laughing and explained he takes medication for his narcolepsy that makes him snore, but he had no idea it was that bad. Well, I became friends with the guy and ended up hanging out with him and his friends over the course of the next two days. I visited the several different sectors of the town, which are divided by the century they were built. I fell in love with Bordeaux. Marking something off my Bucket List, I had a fish pedicure where the little fish eat the dead skin off your feet. It tickled. It tickled so badly. We visited a wine school where they served wine for mere Euros a glass and it was good. I also had the best grape juice I have ever tasted in my life. In an unrelated event, I also had the best kebab I have had in France. And the best pizza. They do food well there in Bordeaux. It was sad when I had to say goodbye to that beautiful city.

     I didn't really have plans for the second week until another one of the assistants, Daniel (who also happens to be a gifted cinematographer), offered the possibility of seeing some castles. I, of course, said yes. So we made plans to visit Orléans and then Blois. I would have been happy with Orléans because there are things there from my favorite person in history; Joan of Arc. Daniel was an excellent traveling companion and we looked at as much of the historical sites as was possible. On his tour Daniel even made friends with some of the language assistants there and we had dinner together, where I had raclette for the first tim (SO good).

     We visited two castles; Chateau Royale and Chateau Chambord. Mom and I watch "Reign" together so it was really cool to see the actual court where all of the stories took place. They really loved having their names on everything. Then of course we went to the highlight of my trip; Chateau Chambord. It is one of the castles that they based Belle's Castle on and it was so incredibly beautiful. It also helped make sense of why people wore these furs and wools all the time...it was SO cold in the castle. It was such a wonderfully magical experience. Did I sing "Beauty and the Beast" from the top of the castle? Yes...yes I did. 

     You see, "Beauty and the Beast" is my favorite Disney movie...of all time. Of all time. When I was younger I was bullied a lot for being a bookworm and smart. So I was a bit of an outcast. So to see a movie where she was bullied and outcast for being smart and reading a lot? I loved that movie. So when Beast saw that, she too, was an outcast and paid attention to her passions and gave her the library and listened and fought with her and beside her and for her? Oh, it made sense to me why they fell in love. I love that movie. So when I realized I would be in France, the setting of my favorite movie, when the live action came out I freaked out. It was...faulty, but still quite wonderful. Plus I saw it with my wonderful new friend, Flavia. Flavia is a surveyant here from Italy and wants to watch movies in English to improve her English but nobody would go with her. So, of course I was more than happy to.

     It was because of her and one of my students that I was invited over to school housing to sing. Yeah, sing. Somehow (probably because of Lionel) word had gotten around that I could sing. After singing for a group of the girls there, I forgot how much I love singing. So one of my students that plays the guitar begged me to come the next week and sing with her. She sent me a list of songs and that's what we did; we sang. I forgot what that was like. I hated my voice for so long after puberty that I forgot how much I loved to sing. I sing all the time when I am alone. I kind of turn into a karaoke superstar when I am alone in the apartment. I don't typically sing in front of other people though. I loved hanging out with Kelsey, who is such a gifted singer because we sang all the time. That woman can harmonize like a boss and we just...sang. I don't do karaoke very often because I feel inadequate, but I will, on occasion. So to see these girls in awe when I sang along to a song on my phone...was a great feeling. So I sang with my students.

    Then on my last day I was hanging out with some students form my Senior (Terminale) class that I had grown particularly fond of after eating lunch with them. So...it had gotten around that I sang so they begged me as a parting gift. "You should be in musicals," he said. The same British young man who had become such an encouragement to me. I kinda shrugged. I miss theater too. I wished them all the best as they went off to their classes. As they said goodbye and I was alone in the apartment. I walked back to my room and stepped out to the balcony. The very same spot that I had cried happy tears my first week here and I cried again. I let my sadness and my joy bubble over and I cried. I feel my heart break in waves and pieces and I smile. It's not a forever goodbye.

     I am going on vacation tomorrow, so I will have more adventures to write of, but I have no more classes. That makes me sad, but not too sad. I don't know if I'll return here, but I certainly hope that I do. I hope so hard that I do. In any case, it is not my last time in the halls of JB Darnet. Even if I'm not posted here next year, I will definitely be visiting. That is the one thing I know for certain.

Part 2: Chapter 2- And I Just Go

     It's still not real. I could be here for years and I'm not sure it would ever feel real to me. It's a subversive reality where I'm not always sure I'm actually here. From the balcony in my room it could be Tennessee. There are still beautiful evergreen trees, rolling hills, quiet backroads, and distant music playing that you're pretty sure is rap but you can't quite tell. There isn't even much writing so it could almost be Tennessee. That is until I turn in the hours near dusk to see the sunset from behind those trees, and that...that is different. I can't actually put into words why or how it is different. It simply is. So it's like a strange dichotomous portal from my balcony. Because I feel at home...and I feel at home. And I do...feel at home here. It's like going to your first family reunion in a state you've never been to. There are people that you don't really know and everything in general is kind of strange to you, but somehow you know you belong there. These are your people. It takes a while but this sense of belonging comes over you. I get that feeling sometimes, in between the waves and being...well not quite homesick. While I have houses where there are people who love me very much and are kind enough to let me stay there, I don't really have much in the way of a physical home. We sold the home where my family had lived for 24 years, and I could write a whole post on that. It was a good thing, it remains a good thing. I am ecstatically happy for the new family that had looked for so long. It is an interesting transition to no longer have that house as a place to return to. The only anchors I have anywhere are people. That's an odd feeling; wonderful and terrifying.

     There is still so much that I have to learn about this place, this country, its culture. I don't ever see myself as very adventurous. I have always been quite a homebody, and being around strangers can kind of freak me out. However, as the old adage goes, the best way to conquer your fears is to face them head on. And being here, that is exactly what I am doing. I still get nervous speaking French. I still feel a bit on edge being in a town where I have never been. However, these are exactly the things that I am doing. All of my vacations have been to places I have never been. They have been real vacations too. It's exciting to me now. Still a bit scary. Probably always a bit scary. I do it though. I walk the streets (at night even), and I just...go. I joke that all my jeans are worn, but it's because I walk all the time. When I go on vacations it's all I do. I will walk for hours upon hours, breaking only to eat or visit a monument, or more often than not a cathedral. I visit a lot of cathedrals. There is a reason for that more than just the fact that they are gorgeous, but I will try to write on that another time. I just step out from the hospital, usually go to the Tourism Office, get a map and figure out the things that I want to visit and I just go. I have never felt unsafe. As a woman, I always have to be cautious, but I have never felt unsafe. A deep desire to punch a guy who wouldn't leave me alone, but not unsafe. Despite being nervous, I am not afraid. That has taken a lot for me.

     So, I am still learning. My French level has really improved and I can hold my own in a conversation. I don't always know every word, but I understand so much more than I used to. I, and this is huge if you know me, can say that I have friends here. As in actual friends that I hang out with. I was honestly afraid that wasn't going to happen. Aside from a major language barrier I get so nervous around people that I could never build up the nerve to ask them if they wanted to hang out. There are some kind and wonderful people that work at this school. I now have the honor of calling a few of them friends. Just a few. I don't have a posse nor could I have enough for a football team (either kind), but I have a few. A few is good. Sometimes this is a strange land for them too, they have just been here far longer than I have. So I have a solace in these kindred spirits. It makes me so incredibly happy. Especially when they become bright points of light in a place that, at times, can be quite dark. I'm not sure they realize that.

     More than simply the language, there are aspects about being here that are so different that I am still in awe on occasion. Sometimes they are little things, sometimes not so little things. Schools here are quite different. In a lot of ways. For example, here on the campus they have a food-service vocational school. So, the students take classes like French, Math, English, and the like, but they also take cooking classes and lessons on hospitality. There is a restaurant in the school that has reservations a month in advance. People from the community come to eat dinner in the school because the food is actually that good. In France, food-service workers are not looked down upon in the way that they are in America. Servers are paid full wage. So they are teaching students at a high school level with close supervision. There are also other strata of educational paths. . Each has the core classes but also take more concentrated classes that apply to what they actually want to do with their life. You want to work with cars? They will teach you. You want to be a scientist? Done. Do you enjoy languages and trying to figure out how you'll actually use your degree? Literature is the one for you!

     Students here are fairly polite. I realize that a big part of that is due to the fact that I am in a small town. Some of the other language assistant have been cussed in class and had paper balls thrown at them, but I have been fortunate. They are very chatty in class, but aside from that they tend to be very well behaved. Some of them fall asleep in class (which I get, because I was that student in high school) and sometimes they don't understand, but overall they are fairly respectful. It took them a while, but they began to say hello to me in the hallways. (I didn't/ still don't get as many hellos as my fellow language assistant Ismael does. He is the Spanish language assistant. Is it because he is a beautiful man and makes all the girls giggle? Yes. Yes I think it is.) Being here has reminded me why I wanted to be a teacher in the first place. Set aside all the politics, all the Common Core nonsense, the stress of being evaluated, and the standardized tests that are dictating each lesson, and you have here. Yes, there is still accountability, and the Seniors still take a test, but it's very different. The teachers don't talk about how much they are looking forward to getting off work so that they can drink to tolerate their job another day. Then again, they don't work 40+ hours a week here. They only have so many classes a week. Some will have 5 classes in a day and then one class and one class and a day off before the weekend. I'm not saying this system is perfect and there was a recent strike due to grievances, but there is a lot about the school systems here that I really admire. For one, I'm here. I wish that when I had grown up that there would have been a native French speaker to teach us and speak with us. So...there's that.

     Then, I truly cannot get over how wonderful it is to have proper vacations. Working at Starbucks for 10 years I never really took proper vacations. I was always in school. The few I took were with other people or due to the kindness of others. I had never in my life, before coming here, gone on a vacation alone. It's...wonderful. I really enjoy just going. Doing whatever I want. Not worrying about what anyone else wants to do, or having to coordinate when to meet people where. It's...it's nice. It has also definitely given me the travel bug. I am pretty sure wanting to travel is on my list of 'must haves' for whoever is lucky enough to spend the rest of their life with me.

     I do enjoy traveling with other people too.  It's a different dynamic, but it's still nice. It's still an adventure. So when Kelsey and I were talking and she mentioned that it was very possible that she was going to be able to come here for Christmas I was beyond excited. The first few days of my vacation I still spent alone, but then I met up with Kelsey and the people she traveled with. I feel kind of at home in Paris and it was so cool to see Paris at Christmastime and to share that with someone I care so much about. It was like seeing something that still keeps me in awe for the first time all over again. We did all of the typical tourist things and it was wonderful. I had the chance to see a whole different side to the city. Then, I had the chance to share my favorite part of the city with the whole group. The stairs leading up to the Sacre Couer is my favorite place in the world. The view of Paris is absolutely incredible and I am grateful to have had the chance to climb the stairs to the very top of the cathedral once over the summer (I definitely wasn't grateful at the time, I was winded). Then the real adventure (for me) began as we crossed the waters to England. I have wanted to visit England for most of my life. So much of the literature that has shaped who I am was written there. So to be walking along the River Thames was an honor that was difficult to put into words.

     I loved London. I love London. It was crazy to be there among all these iconic places and monuments I had only seen in movies. While I was there alone I went a little crazy and just...went. Despite all the amazing places I wanted to visit, there was one place I HAD to see. I plotted my trip on a map and I walked with great trepidation. I knew the original was long gone, but the rebuilt beauty still set my heart ablaze. So as I stood before the glory that was The New Globe, fashioned after Shakespeare's beloved theater, I cried. I literally cried. I absolutely have video proof of that as well. I told myself I wasn't going to, but I did. I did the tour and it ended up being the only tour I did in London and it was absolutely worth every penny. I spent hours in that place roaming around in awe. There were displays of the sort of clothing they wore, interactive elements where you had the chance to act with audio recordings. It was...amazing. Of course I went and paid homage to The Rose and found the original site of The Globe, long since destroyed. Now a series of plaques and posts in a parking lot. I couldn't help but feel a little bit sad about that.

     Christmas in London is magical. The lights are absolutely spectacular. I reconnected with a friend from school and I saw Buckingham Palace. I'm fairly certain I was lucky enough to arrive during the Changing of the Guard, but I could be wrong. I spent time with my friend Michelle and her family and ate amazing noodles down the road from the Palace. I went to see The Eye of London, The Tower Bridge, well...most bridges really...I walked a lot. I saw Big Ben's Tower. I even saw Westminster Abbey. It was incredible.  I was lucky enough to spend Christmas with my Kelsey, who was kind enough to fill what ended up being an entire suitcase to transport my present; a cape. A cape which was the love child of Mama Morris' amazing seamstress skills and my parents' knowledge of how much of a nerd I am. So I now own a cape. I cannot tell you how happy that makes me. (It's even the colors of my Hogwarts House.) So I walked the streets of London in my big glorious cape, which is easily one of the warmest garments that I have ever owned.  Everything in London is closed on Christmas Day.

     So after spending time celebrating the holiday and beyond happy that I was not celebrating alone I set off a few hours before midnight; I had a goal and I started walking the very far distance from where I was staying past New Oxford Street to a hospital. I wasn't sick (though Kelsey was, which was unfortunate, so she was resting). I walked alone on the streets of London because there was something I had to see. Two things actually. The first took me a while to find, and it took me even longer to find the right side but I looked up at the roof of St. Bart's Hospital and I smiled. I reached up my hand. Yeah, I walked a ridiculously far distance (discovering West End theater district by accident) to find the hospital that Benedict Cumberbatch jumped off as Sherlock Holmes (my girl Molly worked there too and that was important...and Jim from IT too, technically it's where John met Sherlock for the first time...huh). So I took lots of pictures, kicking myself for not coming during the daytime. After the hospital I made my way to what is possibly one of the most famous addresses in literature: 221B Baker Street. It took me a bit to find it. It currently stands as a Sherlock Holmes Museum and I wished so hard that I could have gone during daylight hours so I could visit. Oh man, I guess I am going to have to return at some point.

     Then I went to Bath to spend time with my friend. Bath, which beautiful, was not my favorite. It didn't work out to spend much time with Kelsey which...was a major bummer, but I still (you guessed it) went. I explored and had an amazing Cream Tea (probably one of my favorite things in England). It was still very cool and very beautiful and I said goodbye to my friend. I then set off to the other place in England that has been on my Bucket List since 6th grade. I went to Stratford-Upon-Avon. I went to where William Shakespeare was born.

     I left the hostel early and was the first person in line to visit the small museum where I saw the First Folio, one of the few remaining. It was...beyond amazing. As though a divine blessing was given to me, the Folio was open to my favorite play "Much Ado About Nothing". Yeah, I cried at that too. I couldn't stop staring at it. I spent at least ten solid minutes just staring and crying. Then I visited the house where he was born. Not only was I the first one there, but they were in awe of my cape and told me, "You fit right in here. I'm quite envious now. I ought to have a proper cape. You should come and live here, it would suit you well." Oh I could too. So fast. So as I entered the house the actress waiting smiled and said that she could tell I loved Shakespeare and asked if I wanted the proper spiel or just to roam. I told her that of course I wanted to hear it. She concluded with "In the next room, and I know you'll appreciate this, the original floor is still intact which means-" she paused, beaming. "I can walk where he once walked," I said after I caught my breath. With a nod and a wink she told me she could take longer if anybody came in so I could have a moment. And I did. I sank to the floor and put my hand on the floor and I felt a surge run up my arm like pulling terrycloth towels fresh out of a dryer. I might have sprawled on the floor for a bit with a happy murmur. I stood in the very room in which he was born and tears fell from my eyes. I saw The New Place, his home he bought with his theater money. I didn't see Anne Hathaway's home, so I will have to return. After briefly visiting the building that houses the Royal Shakespeare Company (incredibly bummed I hadn't the time nor the funds to see a play there) I left it for last. I went to the church which was hidden by tall trees, a clinging fog nearly obscuring the entrance. I walked around the beautiful cathedral reading everything possible before the last thing I would genuinely be visiting in England. As I crossed the threshold I slowed my gait to that of a funeral dirge. I started at the right, seeing the names of his family, his wife, until I came to sacred place where his bones were laid to rest. Tears came again and I was pretty sure any makeup I had worn was gone. I smiled, I was paying my respects to the great love of my life. I stood there in quiet reverence for a very long time. I walked away and my heart was pounding.

     I gathered my belongings and returned to London before heading back to Paris, just in time for New Year's Eve. For that I was alone. I had a few drinks, sneaking a glass of cheap champagne (which was free for me) up to my favorite place on Earth so I could countdown the minutes to midnight. It was freezing cold as I cuddled in my cape and I went on Facebook and did a Live video so I wouldn't feel as alone as I truly was. I had no place to stay that night because on holidays hostels won't let you stay for just one night. Most of my money had been spent getting around England so I couldn't have afforded a hotel even if I wanted to. So I decided (possibly against my better judgement) that I would find a place to stash my luggage and just (yup) go. I didn't even really have money for food and everything was closed by the time I got to Paris anyways. So I decided I was going to stay awake all night and just sleep on the bus back home to St Yrieix. I counted down the minutes to midnight, connected to people I cared about by a dark screen. I watched what little fireworks were able to permeate the thick cloud cover as there was a countdown (in at least 7 different languages) to midnight. As the bells rang out, all around me people proposed as they promised to spend their lives with one another and I felt the sharp pang of wishing I had a permanent traveling partner. I sat there drinking my free alcohol and after a short time bade goodbye to the people kind enough to join me. I sat on the cold steps for a moment...and I was quiet.

     The duality hit me again. I am SO happy to be here. I feel more alive being here and doing what I am doing than I have in years. However, there I was, alone in my favorite place in the world. I was heartbroken, but I was also joyful and I just...reveled in that sensation for a bit. I made my way down the hill to the first hostel I stayed in because I knew they would let me into the lobby, where I could at very least warm up for a bit before my bus came...at 10am the next morning. I had ten hours to waste. It was my great fortune that I spent several of those in the lobby of that hostel talking at a table with complete strangers. We just talked for hours and everyone shared where they were from and yet again I felt that incomparable magic of human connection. As they all trickled off to bed I thanked the young man at the desk and made my way out onto the streets of Paris.

     Paris, on holidays and events (such as big football (soccer) games) where they know a great deal of their population will be drunk makes all of their public transportation completely free. I was very grateful for that. For the next several hours I just rode the metro from one end of the line to the other, going back and forth across Paris, forcing myself to stay awake. I saw some really drunk people some vomiting from a night of excessive partying. I quietly stayed to myself as I rode the metro back and forth. As time finally neared I fetched my luggage and made my way to the bus stop. My eyelids were heavy as I realized I had not slept in nearly 24 hours. The bus was a welcome sight. I climbed aboard and fell asleep immediately.

     I have crossed so many things off of my Bucket List that I may need to start making an addendum. Though never in my life did I believe that my dreams were, of all things short sighted. I am capable of and have done more than I had ever thought possible. I like to think that it is just the beginning.

Part 2: Chapter 1- The Long Way Around

     I kept telling myself I would. I should. I had the time. I always have the time. I put it off. I put off something that makes me happy. I keep doing that for some reason. However, much like not making New Year's Resolutions I am not going to beat myself up about it, I am just going to do it. I am going to write. Much like everything, I feel like I am making up for lost time.

     I wish I could go back and talk to 14 year old me. There's so much I could tell her. First, of course, I would freak her out in a 'Back to the Future' level bout of ridiculousness. After initial fear, I think she'd actually love it. I wouldn't have to bend down to see her eye to eye. She'd know me right away. It'd be like looking in a mirror...a bit of a fun house mirror, but a mirror all the same. I'd have to dress for the occasion. Like...an elvish warrior princess with a cape and an elegant bow and everything. Might as well do it in style. I'd walk through whatever portal or contraption that allowed me to walk through the expanse of time and space. I'd end up in my old room. That is where young me spent countless hours because (not unlike current me) there was a part of the great wide world that scared her. I'd tell her...I'd tell her it's not all bad. Bad does happen and she will do some really stupid shit and some really stupid shit will happen to her, but it's not all bad. Things do get better. They get worse in some ways but they also definitely get better. I will bring her a picture, a single picture that will bring her hope. Her own person Light of Eärendil. I am not sure which picture it would be. All I know is that it will be of me in France...where I am smiling. Those are the two things that are important. I just want her to know that she makes it. That beautiful dream she has buried so deep because she thinks it will never happen, that it happens. She survives all of the things that make her want to give up. She survives so much more. So I will tell her the one thing she probably never expects to hear from me: I love her. I really, really do. I am proud of her and I hope she would be proud of me too.

     Alas, time travel is nothing but a concept. Good thing too, I'm not sure I could keep myself from crushing a few proverbial butterflies...and by that I mean people. I tend to lean towards compassion and a thousand chances, but given that kind of power...at very least I would be doing a lot of decking people and running back into the rift. Or I'd end up being a dick and leave myself weird notes with no real explanation and laugh at it for years to come. So...where was I going with this? Ah yes, there is no time machine...technically time itself is a concept, but I stand here looking back. Retrospectively, I'm not actually sure that I'd change much about where I've been. Even the terrible decisions I have made (often for months at a time) have led me to where I am now. And where I am is happy. I haven't always been able to say that. Even in things that I enjoy I wasn't always happy. I can say that without reservation: I am so happy. Those who know me well may think that perhaps this is said with a dash of wayward sarcasm, but shockingly it is not. Is it difficult? Sure. Is it lonely? Yes. Do I feel a bit lost sometimes? Of course. However, I am living my dream. How many people in the course of their life get a chance to say that? Not many that I know.

     So when I stood on the balcony of my apartment, stepping from the obnoxiously bright green room that has become home, and I looked back at what was my first full week of classes...I cried. I looked out into the sun setting over the evergreen trees and I cried I was so happy. It was real. I was here. I was brave enough to do the thing that scared me the most. I am still doing it. I have even made friends here. Friends who aren't American, a few of which don't speak English well. I am still working on improving my French, but I know I have improved these past few months. It is likely what I will continue to do in the weeks I am home. I am really quite proud of myself. I still freak out when people talk to me. Especially when men I find attractive (and there are quite a few of them here) do the 'bisou, bisou' or the quick peck on both cheeks that the French do, in fact, actually do. I will likely always be a bit thrown by that. Luckily, there are only 2 that do it with any consistency. Though today one of said two walked around the entire lunch table to make sure he did. Oh giggle. You see, kisses are not nearly as intimate as hugs are here. Hugs don't happen in public...like ever. You hug the people closest to you, those you are truly intimate with. Hugs are seen as more intimate than kisses...it kind of makes sense I guess. That being said if you see me...please hug me.

     Another such thing that threw me for a loop was the quality of the food here. From the produce at the store to the amazing school lunches they serve, the French are associated with food for good reason. School lunches here are not only ample, but complete meals that were begun once breakfast was done. They don't hold back the beauty and the garnishes because it's "just for kids", they make gourmet meals that put American school lunches to shame. Every single meal comes with some sort of salad, an entree, a side dish, bread, fruit, and a dessert. There is also wine and coffee made available for the teachers at every lunch. They don't drink to excess, simply a small glass of wine with their meal. If that was available in the US...well I know a few teachers who would be tipsy at minimum within the lunch break. I don't blame them. Then at the end of lunch the coffee is passed around. Usually dessert is served with, or followed by, coffee. Not just at school, but everywhere. Any restaurant or even food truck offers coffee in some shape or form. It is their liquid sunshine. It rains a lot here. I used to think that all those pictures of Paris where it's raining and there are umbrellas everywhere were so romantic. It's not romantic, I'm sloshing in my shoes and I didn't bring a raincoat so all of my clothes are permeable. It's still very pretty though.

     So since I am nearing the end of my first year here, most of these writings are going to be a look back. I am catching everyone up the long way around. Most of my life has been that way. Finding myself, my purpose, my happiness, but taking the scenic (and sometimes not so scenic) route.

     I live on campus. It's not always convenient and the closest proper grocery store is a 45 minute walk from my apartment. However, it is quite nice all the same. I have a spacious kitchen and lots of closet space. I am the English language assistant here at JB Darnet. For those of you who don't know what that actually entails it basically means I am a teacher for all intents and purposes save for the difficult parts like grading, speaking with parents, and excessive meetings. I usually go into classes and joint teach with the teacher or more often than not I take a small group of high proficiency students and do the lessons with them. Sometimes I get to create my own lessons for my middle school classes. This is not usually the case but the teachers do ask my input on units or for activities. My teachers have been incredibly welcoming and use my strengths. So one of the units was a drama they had to perform. Hearing people speak English when it is not their first language is one of my favorite things. I really do love it. First of all, they have my admiration because English is a wretchedly difficult language to learn, much less if your first language is starkly different in terms of sentence structure and overall grammar. The students here are all required to take English and as they get into middle grades are also required to learn a third language. Take that 'No Child Left Behind'. So since they are required to learn English I have potential to work with every grade level with all different levels of competence.

     My first month was spent going into all these different classes and introducing myself. Many of them thought I was English at first...which while flattering was also a bit confusing. I don't typically carry any sort of British accent unintentionally and most of the media they consume is American, so it surprised me they couldn't pin my origin. I had an entire presentation where I had pictures of myself and my family and a map of the places I have been. Just so you know, Tennessee is well known here for one thing: whiskey. Jack Daniels to be specific. I said I was from Tennessee and these teenagers all went, "Oh yes. Jack Daniels." I mean...it's not the worst legacy we could have. (My birth state of Colorado was only known for mountains and marijuana so you can't win them all.)

     So I was actually only here for a few weeks or so before my first vacation. That's another thing. Even as an assistant I get two weeks paid vacation every semester. I wasn't entirely ready for my first vacation so I decided to go to Paris after visiting with my Au Pair family for a few days. They were so excited to show me everything that had changed since I left, and it was good to spend some time with them. Then it was on to Paris. While I had visited it several times over the summer while I was an Au Pair, I only ever had a chance to see it for a few hours at a time. Even then I had never seen it at night but for twice. Paris...Paris is every bit as magical as everyone makes it out to be. There is so much diversity there and so much history. Buildings have been there for centuries and around every corner there is something new to discover, something else to do. It was this vacation and my first trip traveling truly and genuinely alone that cemented Montmarte in Paris as my favorite place in the world (so far). I also stayed at my first hostel. I was nervous, but I'd heard good things mostly...despite seeing the horror movie. I am happy to report that my first hostel experience was absolutely incredible. I stayed at Le Village in Montmarte and my first evening there I had a discussion with a person from Mexico, a person from Columbia, and a person from France about the misconceptions about each of our countries and the direct tie between education and poverty. It was such a wonderful experience that I have only stayed in hostels for every trip I have taken since then.

     After a day of roaming around Montmarte, I went to see a show at the Moulin Rouge...yeah THE Moulin Rouge. To say it was incredible would be a gross understatement. It was, though...a lot of titties. True to the origin of the place most of the performers were topless. Their performances were outstanding. I didn't have much money yet, so I had bought the cheapest seat possible, but to my great surprise as I presented the usher with my ticket I was brought to the seats directly by the stage. So I have this amazing view and as I looked at the drink menu it was all high quality and incredibly expensive. I asked for the cheapest rosé they had in the smallest amount possible. As the waiter returned and handed it to me I was ready with my card to which he said, "C'est gratuit." I was terribly confused because for all my deficits in this language I knew gratuit. Gratuit means free. "Gratuit?" I repeated. "On the house," the handsome waiter said with a smile before, with a bit of a bow, he exited. I was giddy. The show, again, was amazing. So I go back to the hostel giddy and tipsy after I redeemed the free drink coupons for the bar next door that the hostel gives as a welcome. The man working at the counter was beautiful and I can blame it on the high I was reading but I struck up a conversation with him. We talked for hours and I have never felt more of a connection with a person before. We became friends and talked via Facebook. We were going to hang out over Christmas break, but I was stood up and I decided that I wasn't going to keep trying for people who had decided I wasn't worth the effort. I am trying to be better about that because otherwise I keep being the one to make contact and I put forth all the effort and that is not fair to me and a huge part of this whole experience is growing and being better to myself. So he's not the only one that I have let drift from my life. It's for the best and I am better for it. While I was in Montmarte I got a portrait drawn by one of the street artists. It's kind of a tradition. The last caricature of me ended up looking like Megan Fox. This time it was just me in my hoodie. The artist was a man who said that I looked very Scottish. Did I choose him because I see that as a compliment and because he looked like Van Gogh? Yes. Yes I did. As he drew me he called it his "MonAlicia" (sounded like Mona Lisa). I thought it was pretty damn clever.

     While in Paris I hung out with my friend, Micah, that I had known for a while but we had only hung out when I had previously been in Paris. It was such a wonderful time and we explored places in Paris that I didn't even know existed. It was still arrayed in beautiful autumn colors and as I paused on an avenue I couldn't even tell you the name of I took a picture (as seen below) that is probably one of my favorite pictures I have ever taken. I still love Paris. I will always love Paris. Perhaps one day in my travels I will find a city that I love more, but as of currently Paris holds my heart.

     So much about this place is different but there so many things that are apparently international in their nature especially when it comes to school. High school seniors are apathetic. There are know-it-alls, teacher's pets, and the ostracized kids that love anime and "geeks" as they call them here. (Not nerds, geeks. To me there is a distinction, but here they use geek rather than nerd...I feel disappointed.) I try to speak in French whenever I can, both with the students and the teachers, because I am required to strictly speak English while teaching. I am getting better. I still get lost trying to participate in conversations but I am much better than I once was and I am proud of that.

     I love it here. I really and truly do. Despite the fact I am in a small town and everything is far away it is an adventure and I am grateful every day that this is my life. I still remind myself that this is, in fact my life. So the mantra goes on; j'habite en France, j'habite en France, j'habite en France.
-Alicia

Part 2: Prelude

L'appel du vide Part 2: Prelude

     I could really use a hug right now. It is weird how I have never considered myself a hugging person, but I suppose I really am. I wish to be clear that what follows is a bout of unabashed honesty and transparency. So if that is not something you are down for, by all means feel free to stop here and I will be none the wiser. However, if you choose to stay know that I appreciate it very much.

     In terms of interpersonal relationships I have a hard time with proximity to people or relating to people for that matter so I have only really hugged those that I truly felt close to. So I thought nothing of it for a while until recently I saw something that kind of jarred me. It said that there was a study done by Yale University that people who take longer baths and showers are more likely to feel lonely and isolated and that subconsciously these people substitute these long showers and baths for emotional warmth. Damn. Anyone who has lived with me for any length of time knows that I always take long showers. Always. To the point that when they told me that I wasn't going to have to pay for utilities in my apartment here in France I sighed in relief because I know my tendency to take showers lasting at least half an hour. I used to pass it off as I had long hair and a lot of body to wash, but it isn't quite true. The truth has always been that it feels nice and warm and it feels like being held, and I felt less lonely for a little while. I have always kind of realized the honesty of the situation but refused to admit it because it sounded silly. Well now, would you look at that, I am backed up by science. So even though I am here, living my dream- well let me back up a bit.

     This is it. This is my dream and has been since I was 14; to teach English in France. For years and years I never believed it would happen. It was that dream that I buried deep down because every time I said it out loud all I could hear were the voices (mostly my own) saying that I wasn't good enough, I wouldn't make it, and that some dreams are better left shiny, distant, burning stars to be left by the side of the road in favor of being practical. I do not regret coming here. Not for a second. I am so grateful to be living here, to have this chance to live my dream. Most people do not get that opportunity. I remain in constant awe and there are days that have to repeat more than simply "Je suis en France" but "J'habite en France": I live in France. I wake up in the morning sometimes and have to remember that this is real. That I didn't make this up. That I was brave enough to make this happen. Then there are days like today where I don't feel so brave.

     I have wicked social anxiety. A lot of people don't know that. I don't talk about it a lot because it is admitting a weakness and I have always prided myself on being so strong. I do though. People like my Kelsey and my family are aware of it. I almost didn't go down to meet Kelsey's parents because it absolutely terrified me to be in an environment where I didn't know anyone, where I was unfamiliar, where Kelsey was the only person I knew. What if they didn't like me? What if I was rejected? What if I say something stupid?  I almost didn't attend the first "nerdy boys" party for that same reason. Parties, by the way, unnerve me. I hate when I only know one person because even though small talk was a part of my job description for 10 years I feel awkward and flustered, especially around people I don't know. I end up being that girl chilling around near the chips and salsa.,,or hanging out with the dog. My good friend Jon once told me I was the "Anti-social life of the party" and I think it is such a wonderfully accurate description. So when the term 'ambivert' came out I was in awe. I tend to be incredibly introverted, but I can be fun and social, but only for short periods of time. I recharge by being alone because it is what I am used to. I know that I can adapt if thrown into a new situation or put in with a group of people where I don't know anybody. Now, I absolutely know in practicality that it won't be so bad. I know that I can't make new friends if I don't socialize, and that I am not as alone as I feel. I have people across the world who care about me and are there for me. I know all these things in the back of my mind, but that creeping panic with screaming voices is hard to override with logic most of the time.

     So, that is one of the many reasons I came here to do this; to try and face my fears and social anxieties by jumping in headfirst to a country where my native language is not spoken, where I know absolutely no one, where everyone is a stranger, and all of the environments are new. Most of the time I am good. I am now on a first name basis with all of the English teachers and I am really good at this. (Yet again, one of things I knew in practicality, but had a hard time accepting.) I have students asking when I am going to be in their class again and have teachers fighting over my time slots. All of the teachers and administration have been so incredibly helpful, kind, and supportive. I still get nervous speaking French here. Even after my 8 years of French education and 19 years of speaking the language my level is not that good. Which is so frustrating because I know that it's all in there somewhere and that it is just a matter of refreshing what I have already learned. I know that. So I study every single day. My roommate's good friend, who is a Spanish teacher here, has told me in the two weeks he has spent time at our apartment that my level has improved and from him that really means so much. My lunch meeting where I invite students to come and just speak English with me went really well and I believe this next week it will be even better.

     Yet, despite all of these wonderful things that are happening I feel incredibly alone. It will hit me in small waves. I don't get homesick, not really. I just really miss people. I miss my family, I miss my friends. I miss petting my dogs. I miss hugging the people I care about. The French are not huggers...like at all. My roommate and I have barely gotten to the point that he will let me hug him when he leaves on a trip. Even that is brief. You don't realize how much you want to be held until someone hugs you for just that one extra second and you go 'oh' and it hits you so hard. So I have been single for going on 10 years now and most of the time it doesn't bother me, but then there are those moments where I feel the longing of intimacy and having that person in your life to hug anytime you want to. I have always fancied myself an independent person, which I am for the most part. I actually like travelling alone. I love that I walked the streets of Paris alone and have known the city long enough to navigate without referencing a map. I love that I pass for French to the point that tourists have come up to me asking for directions. Yet, even with all these little victories...there are points that I feel quite empty. I wish to reiterate that I don't regret being here and that I am happier here than I have been in years, and that my loneliness does not diminish that.

    There are just these moments where I let my mind get quiet and it hits me like a Mac truck. I think perhaps it is one of the reasons I play music all the time...aside from the fact I turn into a karaoke superstar for hours at a time...my poor downstairs neighbors. The worst of it is that I know my isolation is, for the most part, self-inflicted. For example, there are the other language assistants in the nearby larger town who are really interesting and wonderful people. It is a mere 42 minutes by train. I know in practicality that I could go over there and hang out with them any weekend. There are teachers who have told me that if I need a ride or a place to stay that I can leave with them on Friday. I don't. Instead I hole myself up in my apartment writing lessons and just passing the time and there have been weekends where I have gone 36 hours without seeing another human being. I am a weekend hermit. In practicality I know I don't need to be. However, to hang out with people there, due to the lack of trains between our towns, I have to ask to stay with someone. It makes me feel like a burden. I hate that feeling so much. It is one of the things I hated the most about having cancer. I didn't mind being sick. I hated feeling like a burden. I hated feeling weak and needing to depend on people because I was too weak to take care of myself. Yet again, I have always tried to be strong and independent. Plus I know that most of the other assistants have plans with the people they live with most of the time, and so they are not always available and the idea of being an inconvenience walks hand in hand with being a burden in my mind so instead I convince myself that I have lessons for the week to prepare so it's better for me to stay home anyways.

     So I woke up this morning after trying to record an update video for my friends and family the night before that turned into a disaster because I had left it 'public' and soon became sexually harassed and propositioned by dozens of men across the world who proceeded to friend request me and due to their lewd comments I had to cut the video short. I already get flustered talking to people and so I am really glad I decided to delete the video because I was starting to stutter (something I do when I get nervous and really flustered) and you could see the panic and embarrassment. All I wanted to do was update my friends and family. So in case you wondered if sexually harassing, degrading, and saying crude things to and about women was strictly an American thing, oh no, it is a worldwide phenomenon. I was angry and I was frustrated and I was flustered.  I know it was not my fault. I spent the next hour or so changing all my privacy settings, blocking those profiles, and deleting every friend request. I make those videos to communicate (because I know it is something I am really bad at) and to feel connected to people in whatever small way I can.

     Then when I finally woke up today the loneliness, isolation, and depression hit me all at once in a wave. I literally had no motivation to wake up. I didn't want to get up because there was nothing I wanted to do, I didn't want to be awake. I went back to sleep for two hours because there was nothing within me that wanted to do anything. I hadn't had an episode like that in a very long time. Even when I finally forced myself awake at 3pm I was not quite here. I went to the kitchen and spent an hour or so making myself lunch. It was beautiful outside and deep down I wanted to go on my balcony and read, but I had no motivation to do so. I didn't want to do anything. I finish making lunch and take three bites before I realized I didn't want to do that either. That is how I know it is really bad; when I don't want to eat. I sit there staring at this food that I spent over an hour on and I practice self-contemplation and try to analyze why I feel like this. All of the loneliness, all of the isolation, all of the realization that I have people there for me, but that they are hundreds of miles away just came crashing down on me. I dropped my fork and just started crying. I am not a crying person at all, but I just started crying and it was the sort of painful that took my breath away.

     I sat there shaking and I knew I had to do something or that I was going to crawl right back into bed and just sleep until I couldn't feel it anymore. So I called my mom. My family has just moved into a new house so I fought to override that feeling of being an inconvenience and I called. God bless my Mom. She took me on a tour of their new house and seeing my parents and my brother and my dogs was wonderful and it was rough. I have no poker face and she asked what was wrong. I explained everything. "You need a hug," she says with a sadness that I know is because she can't give me one. "Until you can get one, get out of the house. Go for a walk. Just get out of the apartment for a little bit. Then when you see some of the teachers, who I know care about you, ask them for a hug because you need it and socially normal or no I am sure they would be happy to give you one. I'm sure even your roommate would." I made excuses for a while but I knew she was right. So I did just that. I went outside, even though it was dark already and I walked to the grocery store. I bought some food and even a dessert that I really like because it makes me happy. I came back home and I put everything up in the right place. I wasn't really hungry but I knew I had to eat. So as I am reheating my lunch (pretty much spaghetti with a black pepper sauce instead of tomato) I decided to do something ridiculous for the sake of being ridiculous. I put it in a tortilla. Why? Because I could and because it made me smile.

    So after eating a bit I decided that I was, in fact, going to take a nice long, hot shower. (Something that is not possible most of the time because the water turns cold after five minutes and doesn't heat back up for another five and then only turns warm.) It turned cold but I just turned the water aside and shaved until it warmed up, which it not only did, but became nice and hot, almost like it knew I needed it. My watery hug. Then as I got out I took care of myself. I used the good lotion everywhere, not just the places that "needed it". I plucked my eyebrows and put the good face cream on. I stood outside for a while and looked at the moon. I let my mind go quiet and it was peaceful instead of screaming.

     I still miss my family and my friends. I am constantly flustered. I feel lonely sometimes. However, I have decided that just as I did when I came here that I am going to fight it and override my anxieties to allow myself to be in the lives of others. I still listen more than I speak. I still can't talk to men I find attractive (so no, I don't have a French boyfriend...yet). So when I say that the comments and likes that are left on the things I post, know that I mean it with such an intense sincerity. I will hopefully pick this back up and begin writing again. So, thank you for reading this. It is a strange form of love for me. So, here is to living life less lonely.

Chapter 6

Chapter 6
June 21, 2016

     I haven't written for...well a long time. It is not because I don't have the time or due to a lack of experiences to write about. I have simply...lost the motivation. That makes me really sad actually. As of tomorrow I have precisely a month left. These last two months have flown by, probably faster than anything else in my life. I find myself frustrated. It was sad when the host mother is telling me that I don't go into Paris enough. I try to temper it with the realization that I have had school, or made the excuse that my primary focus is to be here for the family. While these things are true it still doesn't make sense why I don't go. I think a big part of it is that when I go into Paris I want to be gone all day. The only day I have off is Sunday. When I go into town I don't like the idea of having to come back at a certain time. I don't know if I know that Paris puts me on this sort of high and sometimes (because kids are kids) returning to the house is a screaming, dramatic, and somewhat negative crash. And I am letting that keep me from going to Paris.

     "Do one thing each day that scares you, even if it's a small thing," Rebecca challenged me after we had the conversation on her confusion as to why I didn't visit Paris more often (in which I deftly realized my deeply fear of getting hopelessly lost. She told me I was too smart and interested in art, culture, and history to be bothered by something so trivial. She said my French was too good to worry about being lost and that I had to go to Paris more often. I had to. (She was even kind enough to write out a list of 'must-see' attractions to guide me.) I am adding a few of my own, but I am going to go. I didn't come all this way to be holed up in a house by my own doing. I want to go to Disneyland by myself and I know that seems selfish, but I won't enjoy it if I have to cart around the children, but I think it may be a bit expensive for this time around.

     Another thing that was remarked on was that I have not had a negative/ rude experience thus far. There have been a few beggars who have been a bit pushy, but that happens wherever you go. Even in Paris. I went into a store on Sunday and talked with the saleswoman, got exactly what I needed and as I was checking out, she asked which part of France I was from because she couldn't pinpoint my accent. When I informed her that I was from the US, she was a bit surprised and informed me that my French was quite good. I needed that because I still feel lost when I speak/ listen. Most of the time I don't understand most of what people are saying but I understand enough to get the basic idea. So while I am very grateful for my family I often wish they spoke more French. The only time they really speak French is at school and since, like most children, they hate school and therefore don't like to speak French unless they have to. So that is yet another reason I need to get out of the house more. So while it was useful, I am glad to be out of class. Alas it means the children will be out of school soon so I have no idea how that is going to work out.

     I think I will truly enjoy "real" French life when I come back. I am still waiting on my contract but when I get it there is so much to put into motion. I will have to stay on top of things. So, starting tomorrow I am starting on my list and I am going to go and enjoy Paris. There is so much I still want to see and do. I have already seen and experienced so much. Luckily, I went to the Louvre before the flood. It was absolutely amazing. I walked around for 5 hours and I probably could have walked for five hours more. I rode on the Ferris wheel that is right on the Champs-Elysees and I had such a good time. Even though it was cloudy it was incredibly beautiful. I just wish it would stop raining so much because it makes it so difficult to enjoy the time when everyone is scurrying to get out of the rain and the whole "Paris in the rain" thing may be beautiful and even romantic were I capable of a relationship, but in my current state it is simply obnoxious.

     While I am sad that I will be leaving what feels like so soon there is also so much I have to look forward to. A little thing every day that scares me. It's easier said than done as the saying goes. However, I've made it this far. The first step was the scariest, so now all I have to do is keep putting one foot in front of the other.


-Alicia
7/13/ 2016

Chapter 5

Chapter 5
May 27, 2016

    




    Something amazing happens when you stop trying to be someone/ something else. When you give yourself permission to be who and what you are you simply...come alive. As a part of discussion with Dominique I practiced meta-cognition; I thought about the way I think. As a result I realized one of the reasons I am so anxious about speaking, why I am so so insistent the children speak to me in French when we are in public. It is much deeper than simply wanting to practice French. It is because this whole time I have been trying to pass as French, to be French. "But you are not French," the quiet voice in my head declares. I don't have to pass as French because I'm not French. I am an American in France and upon both realization and acceptance of this fact I felt a weight lifted from me. I gave myself permission to be who and what I am...and it is exhilarating because I have allowed myself to be fallible and that is a beautiful thing.

     I don't write very much anymore and it makes me sad. I have seen so much and there is so much I want to share, but so many other things seem to get in the way. I want to try and remedy this.

     I have been here for a little over a month. It's a weird feeling. I have discovered so much and yet there's so much left to see and do that I am overwhelmed. Huge cities are daunting to me. Especially when they are so steeped in historical significance that it becomes daunting, the idea of just how much there is. I am trying to take it in pieces. One day the Champs-Elysees, another the Eiffel Tower, another The Louvre. 

     In smaller bits, I love St. Germain-En-Laye. There is a market that occurs during the weekends. It's this glorious series of stalls and stands under tents where you can buy bread, belts, books, flowers, tomatoes the size of your face, and crepes with Speculoos (which is this sort of cookie butter and it is SO good). It is also how I discovered that French people apparently don't get complimented often and react strangely. It is kind of fun to make a grown man blush and stutter.

     I love it here. I am so happy here and it's such a peaceful happiness that I forget sometimes and then it hits me and I feel a warm and bubbly joy. Maybe, and this is sad, but being really, truly, and deeply happy is not something I have a lot of experience with so my brain can only process it in pieces. I kind of appreciate it. I am typically delighted by the little things, but there are so many "little things" that I think my mind siphons it off to departmentalize it so that later it hits me and my happiness just bubbles until it's hard to contain and I usually end up in happy giggles...much to the confusion of my host family or people around me.

     Then it makes me a bit sad because 1/3 of my time is over. While I will return in October, it's be different because I will be further from Paris, which I'm not entirely sure is a negative. Everything is exciting and everything is quiet.

-Alicia R. Farrar
July 7, 2016

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

May 18, 2016

 

     "You have to let it go, this idea that you have to be perfect," Dominique (my host father) informed quite clearly. It's a directness that I've noticed among the French that both delights and unnerves me. Today was spent doing homework and later in the day, preparing for the children's arrival home. I made apples into roses then baked them since it had been raining all day. Have I ever done apples in the shape of roses? No. I just felt like it, because the apples were about to turn and it seemed like a good idea at the time. They ended up much prettier than I expected so that was nice. After the usual bout of negotiation the kids were in bed and Rebecca (the mom) was at a meeting. I finished loading the dishwasher and was going to settle in to work on my grammar workbook (which I brought with me. 'Why did you bring French books to France?' one of the children asked. "Because my French is rusty and I want to get better," I replied) when Dominique came home. I let him know the kids were in bed and that Rebecca was at a meeting and dinner was on the stove.

     "It really is quite marvelous, the way you are with the children. It rather surprises me that you haven't any children because it seems you've been at this for a a good while," he stated with a smile. I felt myself blush and murmured a thank you as he was called by the children to tell them good night, and he pointed at me. "Unless you are too tired I'd love to have a beer and you tell me about your life," and with that he sprinted upstairs. After a while (which he apologized for) he grabbed dinner and a beer for each of us and we just talked.

     He asked about the differences between France and home. I mentioned the restaurants, the negotiating, the shops closing at lunch, and the general willingness to help someone if they are genuinely trying. Dominique is a storyteller. In addition to being quite intelligent he is very aware and practical about the duality of his German/ French heritage. "You will discover in all the things the French ultimately  love life," he goes on to tell me of how his mother instructed him how to get into museums for free. About how if you are trying to get a passport or the such in Germany and they say it will take 4 weeks that it will take precisely 4 weeks. The French, conversely, would also say 4 weeks, but if you truly need something, she told him, cry. If you tell them that you need it to visit your Mum and you haven't seen her in some time then they will tell you 'ah, you go over to this boss here, fill out a form, carry it to this office and you will have it in two days'. As we talked a bit more, he stopped abruptly, "What do you want to bring away from this? In terms of an experience or an object, what do you want to have after 3 months?" 

     It made me pause and I told him that he'd have to give me a minute. "Short term?" I began, "I would love to walk into a shop or a restaurant and communicate clearly what I want without the trepidation and nervousness I have now and receive it." I told him about the bookstore. "So what makes you nervous now?" he asked. "I speak French fairly well, but I get flustered easily and even though I am rusty I am still fluent, but I speak to a native speaker and I just forget my grammar and my vocabulary and I end up speaking like a 12 year old." As he looks pensively at me I feel the blush creep up my neck because I don't speak about my social anxieties to many people, anxieties that are exacerbated by the fact that everyone here is new, everything here is a strange situation. I haven't even been to Paris yet. Not because I am afraid of it per se, but because it's daunting and so far outside of my comfort zone. Also I am cripplingly afraid of getting hopelessly lost. "Why does it bother you if your French is not as good as you think it should be?" Dominique's question does not seem to come from a place of ridicule but rather a wish for comprehension. I take a deep breath before I answer. 

     "It's who I am. I am a procrastinating perfectionist. I want to speak well because I want to pass for French in terms of language. While everyone has been kind and helped me the best they can, I know my French is broken. I went into a sandwich shop and he didn't think I was a tourist or an American. It's in the eyes I've noticed. As soon as they hear an incorrect verb or the wrong vocabulary that marks me as a non-native speaker a glint comes into their eyes; they subtly treat you different after that." "So don't give a shit," Dominique shrugged, "You can go about nervous about being good at this or that, but it's better to experience I think. These people don't know you. That gives you a freedom, yeah? To be whatever you want to be. If you mess up, who cares? It's about the experience as it is in most of life. So you have to let it go, this idea that you have to be perfect." It stopped me cold and I had to take a deep breath because it was like a weight had been lifted from my chest. "Thank you," was all I could really say. Being given that sort of permission...well it's hard to describe unless you've experienced it.

     "I meant what I said about you and the kids. They've really taken to you," he states. "I feel you realize they don't really judge you so you are more yourself wit them; intelligent and sarcastic, but also very kind and I just want you to apply that idea to the rest of your interactions. Because I feel you're not always quite you with the grown-ups, with us. You can be, you know. It's like that in France too, so long as you don't hurt or offend people, people really don't care. So I sing in the supermarket, I could stop in the middle of the road to chat with a friend and they might beep me, throw their hands up but as soon as they understand that 'oh he is just talking to a friend' and it's like whatever." He finishes his dinner and beer and tells me he hopes I sleep well and I walk down to my room. I take a deep breath, sit on my bed and I write. It's good. It's good. It's good.

-Alicia
July 22, 2016