Fin.
There are two main things that freak me out the most about going home. First, it's the fact that I'm going to be back in the states. And not even just back in the states, but I'm going to be back there indefinitely. As of right now, I have no idea when I'll be back in France, Russia or just Europe in general. It could be next year, or it could be in 10 years. I feel like both are equally possible. In the states, we speak English. I know how everything works, and I'm used to how everything works. I look around and stuff feels normal, comfortable. In Europe, everything was a struggle. Struggle is the best word I can find to describe it, eventhough I mean a struggle minus the negative connotations. Well, sometimes minus the negative connotations. But no matter what I did, I had to figure out how to do it. Whenever I had to talk to someone, I had to know what I was going to say, or else risk tripping over my words. I was kept pretty constantly on my toes, and while this was sometimes exhausting and frustrating, it was also sometimes exciting and empowering. While I've been over here, a large part of my identity has been "American". I defined myself by that. And I grew to appreciate it as well. One of what I consider my greatest accomplishments while abroad is the fact that I have truly come to love my own culture and country. And when I go back to the states, I know I'm going to bring that love and appreciation back with me, but in a very different way. When I look around a room, the majority of people there will also identify themselves as "American", which is quite the opposite from the world I've been living in for the past 9 months. I'm going back to a world I know and love, and it's a strange feeling because for so long now I've lived only in unfamiliar worlds.
And the second weirdest thing about going home is the fact that it means my study abroad year is over. Right around sixth or seventh grade, I fell in love with the French language, and ever since then, I knew I wanted to study abroad in France. And somewhere in the middle of high school, as Russian became a bigger part of my life, I realized I'd want to spend some time in Russia as well. And ever since beginning at Middlebury, I've been planning for a year abroad in Russia and France. Now, that year is over. This is a part of my life that I have been planning out since sixth grade. This is a part of my life that I have always known would be there, and always been looking forward to. And now it's over. Study abroad has meant so much to me for so long. In a way, I've defined myself by it. I've defined myself as interested in foreign languages and foreign cultures and wanting to experience life in foreign countries. But now I find myself at the end of that experience.
I guess it all comes down to the cliché that it's the journey that matters, not the destination. This whole year has been one of the most important journeys of my life, but the years leading up to this one have been journeys as well. It's like when you have a goal, and work constantly to achieve that goal, but then once it's achieved, you stop and ask yourself, "What now?" I never thought of study abroad as a goal of mine, but in a way it always has been. It's always been there, on the horizon, and I've been constantly preparing myself for it. It was one of the main reasons I chose to go to Middlebury at all. It's one of the only reasons I went to Russian School this summer. Maybe it's because I've never really had a goal for my life after college; I've never really known exactly what I wanted to do when I grew up. In fact, whenever asked what I wanted to do, I'd always just answer "I'm not sure yet, but something with foreign languages". Maybe study abroad was just always the most concrete "something with foreign languages" I could ever see. But anyway, now it's over and I find myself suddenly staring directly into the eyes of senior year, graduation, and everything after that.
I hate to say it, but I'm not so sure this post has an actual point. It's all still being processed, and I'm not yet sure what the final conclusion, or expression is. But as my good friend Laura Budzyna told me, "You'll probably be expressing it for the rest of your life."
I don't know if this will be my final post or not. I may need to write again when I get back to the states, or when I finally get back to Midd and realize everything is different eventhough nothing has changed. But in any case, at 1:00pm tomorrow afternoon, I'll be on a plane heading for the US. And who knows when I'll return.
Pas de baguettes?
The bakery at the grocery store this evening was out of baguettes. How is that possible? I'm in FRANCE.
So instead I was forced to get something called a flute, which looks just like a baguette, but is skinnier and lighter in color.
Said flute tastes exactly like the good Proctor rolls. Oh, yes. And every Middkid out there knows exactly what I'm talking about.
I go home in exactly one week. I am very, very excited.
Final Exam Crisis
You know, this post was supposed to read "I'm done with finals! After a quick, fun trip to Germany, I'm going home! All is wonderful!" However, it is not going to read anywhere near that. After yesterday, it also could read as one long rant about the insane French school system. However, it's not going to read like that either. Mostly because I think if it did, it would continue for so long that every single one of you would stop reading at some point. So instead, I've decided to make it a cultural commentary. Yes, a commentary. That's a good, neutral word, right? Let me begin by setting the scene...
Yesterday morning, I woke up feeling kind of crappy. I had two tests to take that day, though, so I got dressed and walked to the bus stop anyway. After about 10 minutes on the bus, not quite halfway to school, I was feeling so nauseous that I had to get off. Luckily, I was right near Amanda's house, so I called her and stopped by. In the end, I think it was that feeling where you get so hungry that you actually feel sick (I hadn't had breakfast yet and was planning on getting it once I got to school). But so I slowly had water and bread, and after half an hour or 40 minutes was finally starting to feel better. By now, though, it was at least half an hour past the start of my exam and seeing as French teachers do not look kindly on late-comers, I sent my teacher an e-mail explaining the situation and asked her when I would be able to make it up. At this point I wasn't terribly worried - my teacher is very nice, and the Linguistics department on the whole seems pretty accommodating, mostly just because it is so small. Anyway, after having some lunch and studying for a while at Amanda's, I was feeling much better and got on the bus to go to my second final of the day. Here's where the story gets interesting. I arrived at the room only to find
another class in there taking an exam that was definitely not mine. Having no clue what to do, I ran around for about 15 minutes to various offices and rooms and bulletin boards, trying to figure out if my room had been changed or something. I finally went to the Administrative office, where they had no idea what I was talking about, but did find on the exam schedule that there were two exams, mine and a film class, assigned to the same room at the same time. Two women then decided to help me, and I followed them around for about another half an hour to various offices, and we finally determined that the room for my exam had been changed. I had not been told, however, because the French kids all had 3 exams at once, while I was only taking the second of the three. So they had all arrived hours before me, and were informed of the room change. I, on the other hand, arrived for my exam and no one was there to let me know. At this point, however, I was 45 minutes late to my hour-long exam, and the women informed me that I would just have to return Wednesday (Not tomorrow, of course, because everything's closed tomorrow. I still have yet to figure out why.) to talk to the department secretaries to reschedule my exam. What I did not tell them is that I am supposed to be leaving for London this evening, to meet up with Becca and then fly to Germany with her to see Katie. So Germany trip? Cancelled. My last week in Poitiers? A whole lot less fun than I had hoped.
So here's where this post turns into a "cultural commentary" and no, not a rant. The French like to complain. When they find something that is wrong or stupid, they jump on it and talk about it for at least 20 minutes. Not that they're going to do anything to change this stupid thing, but they'll tell you everything about it that makes no sense. So my favorite part of yesterday was how we spent 15 minutes in each office we arrived in discussing how on earth this could possibly have happened. How could two exams have been scheduled in one room? How did no one notice that? Why was I not informed? Why didn't they change it before this morning? And on and on and on, as I was standing there wishing
someone would just do
something to get me to the right classroom. But no, we had to discuss. (Well, and not to mention the fact that we'd have to go to 5 more offices because God forbid anyone communicates anything to eachother.)
I also discovered the best way to get my family to talk to me last night - give them something to complain about. Sitting down at the dinner table, they asked me how my exams went today, or if had any, and I explained that I was supposed to, but then didn't. And suddenly, they all seemed almost as frustrated as I was when the whole thing was going on. They declared it outrageous and unbelievable, and how could I have not been told? Apparently, the same thing happened to Renault, my host cousin, while he was in England. The international students just are not always told of things, and it's just ridiculous! How could that be?! My host dad even suggested that if anything else goes wrong in the least, I should write immediately to the president of the college, because it is just that unbelievable. For the first time since I got here, I felt as though they honestly cared about what was happening to me. All we needed was a mutual enemy, apparently. And not even mutual, but just one that they felt like complaining about as well.
It's all beginning to feel like it's ending
Steph left this morning. She was the first of the Poitiers crew to leave. And it just means I'm next, and that's so weird.
But in the meantime, enjoy a new album that I added to Shutterfly. The first half is pictures I should have put up a long time ago, and just never got to it for some reason, and the second half is recent pictures, including birthday pics! :)
