Falling backwards

As with any conquest of value, some days speaking French are triumphant..clear, crisp, and fluid. And other days are tragic. The horrible thing is that I know right away if it's going to be a "good speaking day" or a "bad speaking day." Anyone who has devoted a large amount of time to mastering a foreign language knows this. Some mornings I step out of my apartment, and my first Bonjour! to the conceirge is on point. Almost native. Other days, it sounds like a two-year-old with a speech impediment. At least in my head. But then again, I'm extremely hard on myself.

As a student in Aix-en-Provence, every day was a "bad speaking day." Before entering a social situation I would quickly decide if I wanted to play the part of the aloof American bitch who refused to talk to anyone, or the village idiot waltzing around the room massacring the French language. Both scenarios were equally painful, because they painted a completely inaccurate picture of who I am.

As I'm sure you've guessed by now, today was a "bad speaking day." I felt lazy and disoriented, and I could not express anything interesting to anyone. So naturally, I repaired my damaged ego by doing something I am good at: eating cookies and watching Gossip Girl.

But even an hour of indulgence can't shake me from my mood, or the complex that is forming in my head. I am so thankful to be where I am, and to be constantly learning and improving, but some days it is just so difficult. Learning a second language returns one to infancy, but not the picturesque Johnson & Johnson version, more like the terrible two's where nothing works and everything is a risk, an experiment.

More and more people are mentioning "accents." Many French people I know are hesitant to speak to me in English because of their accent, which I don't understand...I've always thought the French accent is sophisticated, sexy, and intelligent sounding. But recently, much to my horror, people immediately call me out for my "American accent." I can only hope they find it cute and endearing, because most likely it's here to stay.

Homesickness won't last forever. But in the meantime, there's a Subway across the street.

Thanksgiving in Charleston, SC

Before I left for France I was extremely worried about the holidays. Even though I love to boast about my world travels and fear-nothing outlook on life, I am human. And American. And American humans love to speak English and eat turkey the last Thursday of every November, and then spend all of their money the following black Friday. Why does it have to be black? Anyways, as I expected, I felt several waves of emotion, longing to be home over the past week, but luckily I was too busy to indulge myself in it too much.

Thursday started off early. I took off Thursday and Friday from school (remarkably easy to do by the way) to go to Clermont-Ferrand to validate my visa. But before I could get verified at the prefecture, I had to get a physical. And in order to get the physical, I had to be checked for tuberculosis. Kind of like If You Give a Mouse a Cookie. It would have felt like a frantic scavenger hunt, had I not ran into another English assistant at the doctor's office. Together we discovered that A) we don't have tuberculosis and B) we have no sense of direction. It was fine though, more than fine...fun.

Thanksgiving in Charleston, SC

I had a small Thanksgiving dinner with friends, and it was comforting. Turkey, mashed potatoes, baguette, apple tart and beer...all the things that make me happy. We were speaking French and my family was far away, but the touch of tradition was so wonderful. The next day, I convinced my friend (and guide to all things French) to walk with me to the prefecture for the final step. We had to walk in the cold because there was a transport strike. The validation of the visa was everything I expected it to be. Five minutes in front of a glass partition. A-n-t-i-c-l-i-m-a-c-t-i-c. I was hoping for a round of applause or at least for someone to shake my hand, but I am officially finished with French immigration, and that is something to celebrate...with a new coat, a massage, and a night of drinking and dancing.

I always feel a little bothered by the historical aspects of Thanksgiving, but I love that there is a day set aside to be thankful for the people and blessings in my life. I feel so lucky to have fantastic people in my life all over the world, I am thankful for my health, for this opportunity, for internet access in my apartment, for freedom of speech, for Leonardo Dicaprio. Amen.

Grad school woes

French people are really good at doing nothing. I don't mean this in a negative sense, I am actually incredibly jealous at how they can achieve leisure and relaxation. No one apologizes for spending the day in bed, for taking a three-hour lunch, for 5+ weeks of paid vacation each year. It's cultural, but more than that, it's a philosophy.

Americans, on the other hand work themselves to death and when they finally catch a few days to take off from work, stay in ther pajamas in front of the TV, too exhausted to move. It makes so much more sense to me to work at a steady, slow pace, rather than waiting for yourself to burn out. I hope that I can become more like this and maintain the lifestyle when I return the the U.S.

However, my newfound ideology is proving difficult as I am trying to complete four graduate school applications with deadlines in December. Well, two are in December but I really just want to knock them all out, so I can move on with my life. I've always viewed grad school as a superior route to take in life, a way to bypass the political infrastructure that confines us. So. Wrong. Just like anything else, grad school is a business, a rat race, a competition. And with an influx of applicants as a result of the lack of jobs out there, it's worse than ever.

Which brings me to the past few weeks, sitting glued to my computer obsessing over my personal statement. It's exhausting because you have to express yourself, but only in the way that the committee wants to see you, which is essentially unknown. You have to shine but not too brightly, say all the right things, with the right tone.

I'm lucky to know some really intelligent people who don't mind me filling up their email inboxes each day with questions and revisions, but no matter how hard I work, I am feeling panicked. What if I'm not good enough?

These questions and concerns have been circling my mind, meanwhile distracting me from the important things in my life at the moment: what type of wine to try next, why isn't there gel deodorant in France, how can I cook Christmas dinner without an oven, etc.

So I suppose this post is a useless rant, but perhaps a call for advice. If anyone is in the process of, or has applied to graduate school and has advice for personal statements, interviews, and the application in general, please share!

To market

Open-air market in Nice, circa 2008

This Saturday morning I dragged myself out of bed to catch the tail-end of the weekly market in the center of town. Living in a small village in central France presents few opportunities for excitement, so I was eager to load up on fresh produce, and see the crowd. The market sells a random assortment of things, what you'd expect: fruits, vegetables, cheese; and what you wouldn't expect: watches, shoes, and rotisserie chickens.

I left my apartment, clothed in black, shopping basket in hand, feeling totally French. I've got this. Five steps away from chez moi and I could already smell the food and the fresh flowers. I walked straight up to a table crowded with blocks of delicious unpasteurized stinky cheese and suddenly I froze. I stared at the toothless vendor and totally blanked. It was 2008 again and I had no idea how to speak to French people. I had the horrifying realization that I didn't know the appropriate vocabulary to buy a portion of cheese, meat, or fish. A pound, half-pound, quarter pound? No, they don't use that here. A kilogram? How much is that? How on earth did I ever earn a college degree?

Flower market in Nice, circa 2008

When I studied abroad in Aix-en-Provence my awesome roommate would wake up at 7 every morning and go to the market to buy bread and fresh produce. I prefered to drink and dance until 7 in the morning and then sleep til noon. (Oh, how the times have changed). Well, at this moment, I was kicking myself for being such a lazy alcoholic and not going with her. If I had, I would have known how to do this.

Since I didn't want to pay for an entire block of cheese, I bought what I knew how to buy. Five apples, a bouquet of flowers, and three tomatoes. Next time, I'll come prepared.

Drinking mid-week

I have a recognizable tendency to involve myself in things I know nothing about. There are two main reasons for this. For one, I'm lazy, and secondly, I enjoy the element of surprise. This is generally how I engage in travel, with loosely set plans and expectations. I prefer for the experience to create itself, rather than accepting the difficult task of creating an experience.

Which brings me to wine. Last night, against my better judgement, I went to celebrate "le Beaujolais Nouveau." My colleagues at the lycee were talking about it all week, and I honestly had no idea what it was. "Sure thing! See you there." All I knew was that le Beaujolais was a wine..so maybe a wine party? A solid excuse to get drunk on a Thursday? Sounds good to me.

So after a long day of classes, I rode with my friend to Vichy, and we met about ten other teachers at a bar called Le Gaulois, just in front of the train station. The bar was packed, and by the time we arrived, every table had several bottles of Beaujolais emptied. We caught up quickly, and I have to admit...the taste wasn't great. The type of wine that tastes smooth at first, and then  bites back as you swallow. I'm no wine snob (maybe two notches above the boxed wine club) but I wasn't too impressed. But the energy was undeniable, it was karaoke meets St. Patty's Day, meets freshman year frat party.

It turns out I wasn't too far off in my assumptions, Le Beaujolais Nouveau is a distinct type of beaujolais wine, made from German grapes grown in the Beaujolais region of France. It is fermented for only a few weeks and then released on the third Thursday of November, creating a surge in sales and public drunkenness. Le Beaujolais is meant for immediate consumption and not for keeping. It is often criticized for it's "simple" taste, but in fact it is supposed to taste "young, fresh, and fruity."

So in short, even though the wine was sub-par and I felt like hell waking up at 6 a.m. this morning, I love the way that France celebrates. Everything from a birthday to the arrival of a new wine is always a grande affair. Maybe it's just an excuse to get drunk, but to me it seems a wonderful way to appreciate life.

Why I travel

The other day I was having one of those destructive pity parties where I ate an entire bag of chips while watching YouTube clips of the Victoria's Secret Fashion Show when I realized I can't pronounce the name of the town I live in. I panicked, feeling like one of those teenage bimbos who gets a Chinese tattoo thinking it means 'beauty' and discovering it actually means 'rice.'

I'm a fraud. For the next several days I avoided saying Saint-Pourcain-sur-Sioule at all costs, constructing sentences more awkwardly than usual. When there was no way around it, I said it fast and then coughed at the end, hoping that maybe choking is a solid excuse for mispronunciation.

See I've had a shit week. The thing about being abroad is that everything is magnified. You are more sensitive and vulnerable than you will ever be in your entire life and the slightest unforeseen mishap can send you whirling into a spiral of self-doubt. I don't claim to be an expert on much, but of the mishaps that can occur when abroad...I'm your girl.

French countryside near Toulouse

I've gone completely broke, had a round of international relationships and break-ups, been bitched out in a foreign language (well, a few languages), had my computer confiscated by Israeli security, been extremely sick, visited a French gynecologist...the list goes on.... all on another turf, away from the comforts of my friends, family, and language. I don't say this to brag, but to make a point. Traveling, just like learning a language, is trial and error. You will succeed and fail, and gradually get better at it.

So I suppose in the grand scheme of things, not being able to pronounce Saint-Pourcain-sur-Sioule isn't the most terrible thing that could happen. I was talking to a friend of mine and she asked me why I do it, after all of the uncomfortable situations and catastrophies...why do I continue to place myself in foreign environments instead of sticking with what's comfortable. In my mind, her question answered herself. If you're never challenged you're never changing; if you're never changing you're never improving. You cannot spend seven months in a foreign country and not learn something. Even if that means learning from mistakes.

Shock value

Every day I sit at my desk, across from my German roommate and write. Well, I try to write. Often, I just maintain an espresso-induced caffeine buzz and bounce back and forth between my blog (audience: the world), my personal journal (audience: myself), and my novel (audience: to be determined). One of my goals for my time abroad was to write something...anything...at least three times each week. Even if it's bad, I believe that the act of writing encourages more writing, and eventually something profound..or can I say brilliant, will emerge.

But lately I feel like there is a ticking clock in the back of my head, as if all the other writers are stealing all of the good ideas. The bank is running out, and I'm getting nervous. More and more I see people writing solely for shock value. Excessive cursing, blatant racism/sexism, exaggerated arrogance...anything that will bring in the most traffic is fair game. And I completely understand it. While I am honored that my friends and family read my blog with some regularity, I would love it if I could expand my readership, and attract the attention of random readers. This is ultimately the desire of the writer, not to write, but to be read. So perhaps I am trying to defy something that is undefiable; writers are arrogant, attention-seeking exhibitionists.

That being said, it is exhausting to be an arrogant, attention-seeking exhibitionist. And sometimes, we give up, lose our voice, and forget why we are writing in the first place. There are many different views on what to do to cure writer's block, but I find three to be particularly helpful:

1. Pick someone to write to
You don't have to literally write "Dear Dad" at the top of the paper, but this will direct your tone, message, and instantly give your writing a message. Imagine you are telling a story to someone you know, and then let the writing go from there.

2. Don't be afraid if it's bad
When I have writer's block I type a word, delete. Type three more, delete, delete, delete. Never edit and write simultaneously, I think this inhibits creativity. Express first, edit later.

3. Find a writing place
For weeks I felt like I had nothing to say. This was probably because I was sleeping til noon and sitting across from a pile of dirty laundry every day. Switch up your location, excite your senses and see what can happen.

The things you'd never do

As a five-year addict to Facebook, it may seem perfectly hypocrital for me to stand up on my soapbox and criticize it, but that's exactly what I'm going to do. Not because I'm above it, but because I am powerless without it, and the best defense twenty-something wanna-be-writers have these days is the blogosphere. So here it goes.

Everything everyone does appears online. What you ate for breakfast. Where you bought that dress. How long you've been dating your boyfriend. What you did last night. Who you did last night. And all this is fine and good, because it gives people a sense of celebrity, it somehow validates their existence...but somewhere along the line it began to feel like an event didn't actually occur unless there was record of it on Facebook. And this notion continued to evolve to the point until my greatest fear has been realized: people are doing things JUST so they can record it on Facebook.

I want to gather all my Facebook 'friends' in a room and shout at the top of my lungs, "Would you really have traveled to South Africa if you couldn't post the pictures?" "Are you sure you want to marry him?" "Are those kids just for show?"

"Facebook stunts" as I like to call them, are the manipulation and editing of one's life to make it appear more glamourous, more exciting. You know, kind of like how you post the pictures of yourself with freshly applied makeup, posing like a movie star, at the beginning of a night out, and purposefully leave out the other pictures where you're devouring a large pizza late-night. Engagements, smiling kids, family vacations. I'm getting to the point where when I look through someone's album and it seems just so perfectly put together, I think, what happened next? What's the rest of the story?

Insanity aside, a cultural phenomenon is undoubtedly occuring here. People are subconciously making decisions and doing things because they are motivated by the fact that record of it will be posted online, making them appear cooler, more exciting, thinner, happier. Is this necessarily bad? Maybe not. But weird? Without a doubt. Because what happens when it crashes? Or when we -gasp- have to start paying to use Facebook? Who will validate our existence then? Facebook has evolved beyond a device to facilitate communcation; it has become a way to reinvent ourselves.

Five things you shouldn't do when attempting to speak another language.

Lately I've been on this gigantic power-trip, or should I say self-worth trip. It's like every night I fall asleep and someone is pumping Oprah Winfrey into my veins. It started with the whole Occupy Movement, when I realized that YES, I DESERVE EDUCATION. I DESERVE HEALTHCARE. I DESERVE A COMFORTABLE LIFE. Then my newfound idealogy spread to my present situation abroad: I DESERVE TO BE UNDERSTOOD.

I speak from a personal level when I say this, but I'm sure that many would agree, that most people, when in a foreign environment, assume an inferior position. We forget that we deserve to be a part of the experience, and start to exist on a sub-level of social interaction, where we are understanding most of what's happening, but not everything. Once you get accustomed to this feeling, you are in danger of existing there permanently, and thus not allowing yourself to reap all of the benefits of living abroad.

So what to do? Well, you work your ass off. It's exhausting. Spend as much time with people who are native speakers of the language you want to learn. Immersion is an active pursuit, it is not accomplished just be being in a new location. You have to work hard, every day, until it clicks. You can't take anything personally. And when it comes down to daily conversations, avoid the following:

1. Translating directly
This should be a last resort, like when you absolutely have to communicate something and know no other way. And if you do, be prepared to sound...awkward. The other day I was having lunch with some teachers, and they asked me if I had enough to eat. Yes, I'm full. Unfortunately, I didn't know that je suis pleine means I am pregnant in French.

2. Agreeing or disagreeing without full comprehension
When your mind is spinning trying to make sense of things, it is tempting to just nod and say yes, yes, or no, no, but this can get you in trouble. First, it makes it seem like you're not paying attention and second, you could agree to something absolutely ridiculous.

3. Being afraid to slow things down
Learning a new language is one of the hardest things in the world. So don't feel like you are admitting defeat by asking a native speaker to slow down, or ask for the definition of a word.

4. Just listening
Try not to fade into the background. It is just as awkward for everyone else if you're just sitting there feeling lost. I complained to a colleague that I have things to contribute to a conversation, but once I know what I want to say, it's three minutes too late. Say it anways! Or start a new conversation, eventually you'll be on the same page.

5. Giving up without a fight
Most importantly, fight to understand; fight to be understood. No, I don't mean be aggressive and scary. But don't get too frustrated. Most likely, the group you're with isn't talking about rocket science. They are probably talking about the same things everyone is--you know jerky ex-boyfriends, love handles, Leonardo Dicaprio...So don't be intimidated.

Americans love costumes. And apologize too much.

Wrapping up my first Halloween in France with a sore throat and a lot less money in my bank account. This was a really good vacation. Who has a random nearly two-week vacation in October? Oh yes, the French do. I am feeling particularly thankful--a month before thanksgiving--for all of the wonderful people I've met so far. Everyone has been kind, helpful, and generous, contributing to my premature state of comfort and immersion.

An attempt to be terrifying on Halloween

Can you tell I've been reading Jane Austen? I'll be honest, Pride and Prejudice is kind of a yawn, but it does wonders for your vocabulary. Okay, where was I...oh yes, Halloween. Somewhere in between dressing up like a witch and unintentionally attending a drag show, I realized that French people aren't so hot on costumes. The first pang of homesickness struck me when I walked into a bar with my crew (we were all dressed-up) and everyone just looked at us in their normal clothes like what are those crazy girls doing. Hmm. Oh well, we proceeded to have an amazing night. Fast forward to actual Halloween night, and we went out to the largest, most extravagant club I've ever seen (in real life and movies) and still! Very few costumes to speak of. Come on, France.

But with all the off-the-charts cheese, wine, bread, and chocolate I've been consuming, I really can't complain about anything here. Or apologize. At this point, a month into my second long-term stint in France, I am rarely shocked by cultural differences, but the other day...I had a moment. My French friend complained that her throat was starting to hurt, and with all the American compassion I could muster, I grabbed her arm, tilted my head and said "I'm sorry." She looked truly puzzled. "For what?" Another friend with us who has had more exposure to Americans burst out laughing, and explained to her that Americans apologize for everything, even if they have no control over it.

I let this marinate for a minute, and then realized he's completely right! And that is why so often, Americans think French are rude! Because they aren't apologizing for our sore throats, bad weeks, and marital problems. But in actuality, it is bizarre that I have a natural instinct to apologize to anyone who is feeling less than superb at any give moment. If you know me beyond this blog, then you know that I am the ultimate people-pleaser, so this revelation is like a giant weight lifted off my shoulders.

To occupy or not to occupy

One thing I enjoy about being abroad is viewing and reading American news from a different perspective. And with the recent Occupy Movement sweeping the country, there has been plenty of information to digest and discuss--with other Americans and the French.

It feels like every day that I log on to Facebook, I see one of those "I am the 99%" photos, or even better the "I am not the 99%" photos, followed by a page-long trail of heated debate. With all of the opinions, coverage, and controversy, I can't seem to pinpoint what is scaring people more, that big corporations are being attacked, or that Americans are standing up for their rights, an idea that has somehow become against the "American Dream" which according to critics of the movement, means working your ass off and expecting nothing from your government or society.

Somewhere along the line it seems that Americans have misconstrued their value, worth, and have begun to accept nothing from the society and government that they are a part of. Yes, I believe in working hard for what you have. But I strongly believe that every individual should have the right to healthcare and to education. No one should get sick or die because they don't have money. No one should miss out on education because they cannot finance it. These ARE basic human rights and anyone who disagrees has a warped sense of self-worth.

I really like to bring up the Occupy Wallstreet Movement with my French colleagues and students, because they just can't wrap their head around facts we have accepted: unless you are rich, you must take out a surplus of loans to complete your education, and a trip to the doctor could set you back thousands of dollars. My friend thought she misunderstood me when I first explained this, then she asked "Well, since you are paying so much for college, do they immediately place you with a career?" I laughed. Wouldn't that be nice. But how would she know? She attended a four-year university for free, then obtained her masters for free, and after receiving certification, she was placed in a school as a full-time art teacher.

It is doubtful that the changes the Occupy protesters are fighting for will ever come to pass. But that really isn't the point. They are fighting against injustice, refusing to accept what is happening.