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
