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 3

Chapter 3

As you may have noticed I have not been updating this as frequently. I am working on getting better about that. I am finding myself less motivated to write at all. This frustrates me because I love to write and it is how I process things and I am just...going. Experiencing yes, but I don't know. So if you are reading this...thank you and any encouragement is greatly appreciated. 

May 15, 2016

     It has now been a full week. It doesn't feel like a whole week. Rather it feels substantially shorter and infinitely longer. This, while being a bit rough at times, has been a great weekend. The children are starting to behave better in pieces, and I am understanding things better...in pieces. You never realize your deficiencies in a language until you find yourself in a situation where you are desperately looking for the proper vocabulary to explain something you really need to a native speaker. However, and maybe it's because I haven't been to Paris yet, but the people here are not rude. Well, not if you're at least trying to speak the language. I am fairly fluent, but I struggle immensely. My vocabulary is not what it should be and my grammar is spotty.

     One example was Saturday, which was wonderful. After helping the kids with their homework until lunch I got to go to St. Germain for a few hours on my own. It was delightful. I just walked around (in my Stitch dress) and just explored. I needed a book for class so I actually stumbled upon the bookstore by accident. It was quite busy so it took a while for the man working there to be available. As soon as I started to explain what I needed I felt my face turn bright red because I was flustered. I tried repeating the name of the book, but sensing that I was struggling asked (in English) if it would be easier in English. Slightly defeated I said yes and even after I repeated it he didn't understand and quickly slid me a piece of paper and pen to me and asked if I could write it. As I did he stopped me after a few letters and (in French) apologized, saying that it was not my French, but simply that he thought that I was saying a different but very similar word and immediately said that he knew precisely the book and beckoned me to follow. That...that was incredibly encouraging.

     I was able to go to several stores and in somewhat broken French explain and obtain exactly what I was wanting. That felt good. I found a comic book store and drank a caffeinated milkshake on the steps of a beautiful church across from the chateau, I had a woman approach me randomly and then proceeded to tell me that she liked my dress and that summer would be soon, but not yet and that she hoped that it would be pleasant. I just...wandered around the city and it was pretty fantastic. The thing about France that takes a bit of getting used to is that the restaurants etc. only have certain times that they serve food. People typically eat out typically at the same time and dinner services is not until 7 in some places after their lunch ends at 2. So if you are hungry for dinner at 5 you are out of luck save for little sandwich shops. So instead I went to a pub for hot chocolate (because that's a thing here) hoping for a bit to eat, but I'd hit the in between time, so I enjoyed the hot chocolate, which was delicious, and returned to the house. It was a good day, such a good day.

     As I talked with my Apryl I told her that here I feel...right. Even though a part of me is in constant panic and I get flustered easily, but it's good. It's not real. Well, it doesn't feel real even though I know it is. Every day I stop and say to myself, "Je suis en France. Je suis en France. Je suis en France." I am in France. I am in France. I am in France. I feel that maybe if I repeat it enough times it will be more cemented in my head that I am really here. I am really doing it. Even in the small moments I freak out or a wave of missing my family hits me hard I have a simple mantra: "It's good. It's good. It's good." It is...good. Not easy. Not without its downfalls and moments of tiny terror, but it is good. C'est si bon.

-Alicia R. Farrar

June 13, 2016