Last I left off, I was deciding where
to go to college, between Madison, UCSD, UWash, McGill, U of
Minnesota, and UCSC. I got rejected from Berkeley, which didn't
surprise me at all and only disappointed me for an hour or two. I
posted a question to the world about UCSD's vibe and got
overwhelmingly negative responses; people telling me that UC Socially
Dead is very weak on extra-curricular activities and is not friendly
and open. Further research also showed me that much of UCSD's
reputation comes from biology and engineering, while Madison is very
strong in the humanities. This means that Madison is a better school
in the subjects I'm more likely to major in, as well as having a
better vibe for me. It's not that I want a party school,
exactly, because I don't really like parties. I just want the
attitude of a party school, where everyone is looking to be friendly
with everyone else, and you can smile at people as you walk down the
street and sit next to strangers in the dining hall and strike up
conversations.
Anyway,
after a lot of research and reading the many facebook messages I got
on the subject and soul-searching, it became pretty obvious to me
what my best choice was, which is actually the school I've wanted
since the beginning: The University of Wisconsin-Madison. So on April
6th
I signed my online confirmation, finished signing up for housing, and
declined all my other offers. WOOOOOO!!!
Excuse
my unprofessional writing, but WOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!! Let's put on some
happy music. (I'm actually not very good at happy music, so this is
the best I've got: My
Evil Plan to Save the World)
I'm
really excited. It feels like the right choice, and I'm also really
glad to be done making that choice. My best friend Grace got a really
stressed angsty 3am Gchat conversation with me the weekend before.
Now that that choice is over, I can theoretically get a good night's
sleep!
Theoretically,
because Life Update #2: I have back issues. I posted a week ago about
my accident that ended me up in the hospital (Socialized
Medicine). Unfortunately, my back issues weren't getting better,
so on Wednesday (6 days after I fell) I went to see a
kinésthérapeute/ostéopathe, which is a very generalized French
doctor who does physical therapy, chiropractics, osteopathy, etc. He
was very attractive and kind just like my emergency room doctor was,
leaving me with the impression that all the rumored good-looking
Frenchmen I was promised are all hiding in doctor's offices, because
I certainly don't see them very often. He showed me that I had one
leg 2 inches longer than the other, which is not normal, and put my
pelvis back on its hinges. After he finished cracking me back into
place, he showed me that my legs actually have a normal
half-centimeter difference, which is why I often have back problems
because my pelvis likes to jump off its hinges. Then he turned his
attention to my upper back which is where it actually hurt, and said
“Does it hurt to breathe?” “...Yes, especially if I sneeze or
laugh.” “Well... that's normal. You have a muscle caught between
your spine and your ribs that catches every time you breathe.”
“...Oh.”
I
guess eventually I will learn that whenever I hurt, I actually have a
pretty bad medical problem. Obviously an out-of-place back is nothing
I could die of, but it is nonetheless painful and every time I've
needed to see a chiropractor they've been astonished that I didn't
come in earlier. This problem runs in the family: we have high pain
tolerance, don't like asking for help, and assume the problem will go
away if we ignore it. I am writing all of this down to try to help me
see how stupid this is so I won't do it anymore. It was especially
stupid of me because I was on maximum dosage of paracetamol for 4 or
5 days and it was doing absolutely nothing for me and I couldn't
sleep, so I should've known that I had a problem that wouldn't go
away with time. Now, fortunately, I'm doing much better, am off the
pain meds, and even went back to frisbee practice last night for the
first time in two weeks. Yay!
In
other news, springtime decided not to come this year. We went
straight from a cold, gray, rainy winter to summer. Last Sunday was
the first day of summer, and I went fishing with my host brother and
father in the grandfather's boat.
Bare feet!
Fishing,
meaning I lay on the top of the boat and sunbathed. Yes, I did get
sunburned, but it was worth it.
With
the sudden arrival of summer, a lot of things are changing. People
are happier, we hang out outside during lunchtime instead of inside,
and everyone's starting to count down the days until school's out. My
friend Sarah, the other American, is going home in less than a month.
I have less than 2 months until I see my parents and less than 3
months until I am HOME for real. 3 months from now, I'll be picking
up my host sister at the airport.
You
know how smell is the sense the most strongly linked to emotion? This
has always been especially true for me because I have an acute sense
of smell. The warmer weather means my sense of smell has come back in
full flood, oddly enough reminding me of when I first came at the end
of August. The smell of the soil and the plants in the garden, the
smell of cows and green things when I go running, the smell of my
sheets and the particular laundry detergent that they use, the smell
of the house in general, they all remind me in a vivid, gut-wrenching
sort of way how terrified I was when I first came, how sick and lost
and alone. It's a weird feeling, but somewhat triumphant because it
reminds me just how far I've come. In August and September I didn't
talk much, I barely ate because I couldn't stomach the heavy food, I
didn't know what to say or how to say it or how to act or anything.
After two weeks I went to my first frisbee practice. I was terrified
of everyone, didn't understand a word the coach said, and especially
hated the fact that all the frisbee players say hello to each other
with a cheek kiss. Seriously, isn't that a little overkill? In the
States we just show up and say “Hi guys!” and start playing.
At the
end of November, I went to my first
frisbee tournament and declared that weekend a turning point: I
had finally found a reason to stay in France. Now, my coach is one of
my favorite people I know, and he's determined to send me to the
national women's championship (more on that later) because he said
he's proud of what I've become and how much I've improved.
I'm gonna miss these guys!
So for
a brief summary:
In
early October, I broke down for the first time and cried, just
because I was homesick and alone and felt like the months ahead of me
were so very long. (For the record, I broke down twice this year,
once in October and once in... January? Anyway, the middle of the
year.) In late October I had an angst
crisis: sure, I was starting to get used to life in France, but
what if it didn't fulfill my dreams? What if my life at home was
actually, well... better,
in most respects, than my life here? Considering how often I had told
myself “Just X more months and I'm out of this high school, out of
this boring city, out of this whole messed-up country!”
before leaving, that was a pretty sad realization and took awhile to
get over.
In
mid-November I was in Paris,
mostly alone, getting lost and daring to ask for directions and even
starting to walk with the confidence that made people think I was a
native – I got asked for directions three times. In December I sold
oysters at the market, and celebrated Christmas away from home.
In February I went to England
with my class, which was the other most important turning point
during my year abroad: I finally started feeling like I belonged with
my class and with my friends, like I deserved a place on the bus
instead of feeling bad for tagging along and annoying people. I also
turned 18, which has honestly given me a sassiness +10 bonus. I'm a
responsible adult, and no one can mess with me! In February or March
I finally started being best buddies with my host sister – we got
along excellently since the beginning, but now I never do my homework
because we're too busy hanging out, watching bad reality TV, and
making fun of each other. April 4th,
when I went to the hospital,
was the first day where I forgot
to be embarrassed about my accent in front of strangers. I just
started talking to the nurse and the strangers at the hospital
without stopping to explain, timidly, that I'm American and I'm sorry
for my accent. And guess what? It worked just fine – my doctor
talked to me in perfectly normal French. Even though they obviously
knew I was foreign, they respected the fact that I speak fluently and
didn't make a big fuss over my foreignness.
That
leaves us at the present. Up until quite recently, I didn't think I
was going to be sad to leave France at all. Sure, there are a few
people I'll miss. I'll miss some people from my class and my frisbee
team and most of all my host family.
Les copines me manqueront!
But recently my life has just
started to take on a greater degree of completeness, a sensation that
I'm actually not in withdrawal of anything. I miss my parents and my
friends and my music and my hometown, but I also have a life here
that is becoming more and more rewarding, and it's going to be more
difficult to leave it than I had imagined.
I know
this was a very rambling update. But to conclude, I'm very excited to
be going to Madison next year, my back issues are better, and France
is starting to smell like summer.
Here's
a love song with very repetitive lyrics that are adorable, since I
haven't done any complementary French songs for awhile. T'es
Belle – Volo
“You're
beautiful when you smile... and when we see your teeth... when you
make a lame joke in the middle of a silence... when you get mad and
it's not the right time to tell you so... You're beautiful in all
circumstances.”
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