Two Weeks Home

So, it's really odd to think that I've been home from France for about two weeks. I'm a couple of days over, but we'll count it. It's actually been two weeks and two and a half days. But it feels so weird to actually be somewhere there's no language barrier, even if that's not really a problem for me anymore. But it feels so weird to be back in American culture, where there's no such thing as a vacation. Vacations are important and we need to learn that. And everyone is so loud and guys catcall while you're walking down the street.

I prefer France. I miss France. France is home. Everyone is respectful of others and we're all allowed to do our own thing (except sing Let it Go in the Disney Store. Apparently that's not allowed, even if Idina's powerhouse vocals are filling the store. It turns out that scares people). I just miss the culture where it's cool if you wear a bikini to the beach, even if you have the whitest skin to ever white because everyone's just there to enjoy the sun and sand. It's just different, and I love it so much and I wish I could go back right now. But if I was in France right now, I wouldn't have made friends with Laura, Louise, Guillame, and Francois. All four of them are from France, and I'm not really sure how I found them, but I will always hold onto that part of me that is France, and if that means I just make friends with French people, then I make friends with French people.

I really want to go back, though. I miss my family and speaking French all the time. Now when I speak French, people don't understand, and that is so frustrating for me. Once it gets about past five o'clock, I automatically transfer into French a lot of the time because I'm tired and it just feels natural to speak in a language that's not the one I learned as a child. French feels more natural to me, which I suppose is a little odd, but I think that as you get older and learn languages, you kind of find the one that fits you, and for me, that's French. I enjoy it so much and it sounds so much better than English to me. I don't know. French is just that escape for me.

On Last Weeks

For the past couple of days, I've been thinking about last weeks. I don't mean the week before this one or anything like that. I mean the last few days in a familiar place.

My last week in the US was filled with tears and goodbyes I had to make right then because I only had a week in between graduation and my flight. It was a crazy week. I had almost no time to myself in between work and packing and making sure I had done everything on my "before you leave forever" list. I knew as soon as I got home, I'd be moving into my apartment and wouldn't come home until Christmas.

But I look back and realize how lucky I was to have this opportunity. How lucky I am. I speak French now, and I'm much better at it than I was when I got here two months ago. I've seen the beaches where the Allied forces landed to liberate France during World War II. I've been to the beaches in the south of France. I've hiked the Pyrénées.

But most of all, I've grown. I have come a long way from the timid high school graduate I was. I am now so much more confident in myself, and I know I can do whatever I set my mind to. I am a young woman with dreams and ways to achieve them.

I am not ready to leave France. I know that when I first got here, I couldn't wait to go home. I was always scared of saying or doing the wrong thing. I wanted to count down every Sunday until the tenth of August, so that I would know when I only had three days left. Now I only have six days and I am not ready.

Even with all of the tears I've shed here, I know they were all for a good reason. Even when I panicked at a barbecue and then was served seafood. Even when I was exhausted and in a new unfamiliar place. Even when I'd only been away from home for a week and I was ready to go home then. Each of those moments helped me grow into the young woman I am today. And I am so grateful for them.

I also know that I came to live with a family I've know for eight years, but still barely knew because I'd only spent four days with them the last time I was in France. I knew they loved me already, but coming into their home was so amazing. They took me on as another daughter, accepted me immediately for who I was two months ago,  and they still love me today. I wouldn't trade this experience for anything because of the growth I've experienced.

And I know there were moments when I froze up and forgot all of the French I know at any given time, but that's to be expected. It's hard to learn another language and speak it on a regular basis when you're still not sure of grammar concepts or which words are correct for different contexts, but I know that as I continue to study and speak, it will come more easily.

I still can't believe this is my last week. In a week, I will be back home with my sisters and brother. I'll have two dogs instead of three cats. I won't have my own room (only because my siblings decided they could just take my room so they could all have their own). I'll be able to sing without worrying about someone hearing me and making me nervous. I'll be within about 20 minutes of most of my friends. I'll be with my parents. I'll have a desk that I put my feet on when I write (it's more comfortable that way).

But I know I won't be the same me. I am so different from the girl who moved to France exactly a week after she graduated from high school. I am now a young woman who has confidence.

This is what a last week is. It is looking at where you started because you enjoy seeing the changes that have taken place.

So I am grateful to be in France, and I know that it is time to move to the next adventure. But not for another week.


Peace out!