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

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

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Monday May 9, 2016

     It's just a pastry...presumably. However, the iconography of its flaky deliciousness extends to a childhood filled with wonder at an animated depiction of a village where you could buy bread, still warm and fresh from the oven. I'm not expecting its inhabitants to burst into song (oh but wouldn't that be wonderful). So today the croissant was ordered for me alongside bread, titled 'Viking', that was for the family. "You always say 'bonjour' to everyone," my host mother, Rebecca, whispered to me. (Which of course made me think that maybe if I started the song they'd join in.) As they spoke, Rebecca and the shopkeeper I realize I am understanding more and more French. This does not change the fact that I have brought grammar books and dictionaries and struggle immensely whenever I have to speak to someone when it is their native language. I on the verge of panic, but I am getting better. It does not change the fact that I am taking a French class in "town" which for us is Saint Germain-En-Laye. There is a chateau in said town. It was when the Sun King wanted to live it down a little from Versailles and "slum" it a bit. 

     I look outside from the large window in my room. It is a window where I cannot bear to close the shutters because of both the natural light and the fact that the shutters are metal and the other bit is the view. My room looks out into "the garden". That it what they call it because the family I am staying with has an English mother and a German/ French father so a lot of very British vocabulary is slowly trickling into my vernacular. So it is not the backyard I see from my window, it is the garden and of course I have to giggle as I do so past the small Toothless figurines, Mjolnir, and the small "One Ring" I have on my windowsill. It's a backyard with trees and little flowers littering the grasses growing sporadically in tufts of white, yellow, and a glorious blue. However, it is not the backyard, it is the garden which we "pop into" and I am very grateful that their first language is English. Of course, we speak French with each other fairly frequently thus far. It was the highest praise when the twins' tennis instructor said that my French is very good, not even with the stipulation 'for an American' but simply 'very good'. Everything around here closes for lunch time in the village I am in. However, there are not many restaurants here, which actually really surprised me. Apparently, save for Paris, restaurants are not really something people frequent as they are quite expensive. Most people go home for lunch and cook a meal, so most businesses are closed for around two hours around lunch time.

     I saw my first chateau today in Saint Germain. It is so beautiful and the whole city is just incredible. People walk everywhere. Aside for the scarcity, parking is a logistical nightmare. All the streets are incredibly narrow, which makes me nervous about driving here. They are going to try to get me a new car to get the kids to school, but apparently driving a car is a ridiculous ordeal around here. There is so much that's so different, but it's good and I am so happy to be here. Today Benji (the oldest at 13) has informed me that I am the best Au Pair they have ever had by far.

I'll take it.

-Alicia R. Farrar
5/24/2016