Growing Up

I've always hated it when people talk about childhood or the teenage years as this utopia of carefree, responsibility-less playtime. “Oh, I miss the good old days when I didn't have to worry about job security, taxes, rent...” they say wistfully, gazing off into the distance, presumably imagining running naked through a field of daises as a happy 9-year-old. But I've always wanted to be older, wanted to have responsibilities and be treated like I knew what I was talking about, wanted the freedom to choose what to do with myself, to choose what to study and where to travel and live by my own rules. I think I knew the word “patronize” by the time I was 7 and would tell adults not to patronize me if they crouched down and talked to me like... well, like one usually talks to a 7-year-old. So I longed to be bigger, older, wiser and more respected. (Not yet knowing, of course, that small blonde women have trouble being listened to throughout their entire lives.)

In middle school I wanted nothing more than to be out of middle school. A reasonable desire. I still would, if I were there. Let's not linger on those years. In high school, things were starting to look up, but I still wanted to get out – away from my school, from home, from my state, my country even. I wanted to see the world and be independent. I got my wish, in some ways, by going abroad, though I wasn't given as much independence as I had had in my parents' household. And now college. The fledgling eagle stage, where I can leave the nest and fly, but still rely on my parents and am not quite a “real adult”, whatever that means.

Fledgling eagles are ugly birds

The things we worry about change as we age. I'm happier now than I've ever been, and dHappiness/dt seems to be a large positive number, at least as far as I know from t ≤ 19. (For those of you who just cringed, that was indeed the first way I thought of to say that happiness seems to increase over time.) That being said, I can understand why people think that to be young is to be carefree. Worrying about work, taxes, rent, insurance, etc. IS really stressful sometimes, and people forget the different pressures that they had when they were younger (figuring out social situations, grades, parental expectations, different worries about the future like college/student loans/asking that girl to prom, driver's tests, etc etc). Maybe they forget because they blocked it out – I know I blocked out large portions of my middle school experience! But legitimately, the much patronized youth have no way of understanding the different stresses their parents and other adults are under, and that's what I think adults are trying to say when they claim that the youth have it easy. They're trying to point out how much pressure they themselves are under, and so they do that by belittling the pressures of others. Just like how some people try to boost themselves up socially by putting others down (not a recommended strategy, by the way).

Slight tangent alert (it will all come full-circle, I promise). Anxieties that keep you up at night aren't always rational. Some of my brain's favorite things to do have at various times included: 1) Worrying about the fact that I wouldn't know right away if one of my close family members or friends died while I'm lying there in bed, 2) Worrying about every single conversation I've had during the day, and how I or the other person(s) involved could have misinterpreted the things that were said, 3) Worrying that there's something very important I needed to do that day, that I forgot to do, 4) Worrying that my excessive tendency to worry about things at night will keep me from getting enough sleep, causing me to perform poorly in classes, sports, and social events (talk about ironic), 5) Worrying about the future, and what I want to be doing 5 years from now, and a great many more. I'm going to go out on a limb and assume that other people also have this experience from time to time, and that I'm not just exposing myself as a horribly neurotic and anxious individual.

I had a very strange experience a few nights ago which actually inspired me to write a little about this. I couldn't sleep because I was thinking about my insurance, which I have taken upon myself to be responsible for. Now that I'm out-of-state and not on my parents' plan, I had to apply for insurance (thanks, Obamacare!) with all the convoluted paperwork involved, and it was generally not a fun experience, and one of those things that makes adults complain about how easy kids have it. In any case, it did actually work, so I should get my “Almost a Real Adult” card in the mail any day now. But I was up worrying because I realized I didn't actually know how it worked. If I got a spinal injury playing frisbee and went to the hospital, which hospital should I go to? Does it matter? Am I sure that all my paperwork is good to go, and I wouldn't be stuck with some ridiculous $40k hospital bill, because the US medical system is STUPID? Do I have copays? Holy crap, there's so many things I don't know and that's scary! (Don't worry, I have since taken it upon myself to find the answers to all of these things.) Point is, insurance is never something I would have stayed up thinking about a few years ago. So yes, there is some validity to adults' complaints.

But that got me thinking. What did I worry about in elementary, middle, or even high school that I don't worry about now? What kept me up at night then? Easy enough to answer: When you're very young, you worry about monsters in the closet, or if you're morbid like me, you worried about what would happen if Mommy and Daddy were killed by the monsters in the closet, or died for some other reason, and you were left all alone. In middle school, I worried about being sad and not knowing why I was sad, being more socially anxious than I am now, wondering why I felt so different and if things would ever change. Worrying about all the crazy changes happening to your pubescent body, and the unbalanced levels of hormones in your brain. And maybe the occasional worry about what a particular boy thought of me, worrying about my appearance and whether I was likeable and whether anyone would ever “like like” me. In high school, I worried about grades and college applications and what I wanted to do with my life, if I would ever have all the necessary skills to live on my own, not to mention many of the same worries from middle school (boys, girls, friends, relationships, appearances, and the inevitable social hierarchy of schools). There are very few of these that I still worry about now, and for that, I am grateful beyond words!

So I hope by now you're all convinced that people of all ages have stress. What else plays a role? Well, the things that younger people are stressed about aren't things they can change easily. They have little to no choice in school, rapid and awkward changes in their bodies, the social hierarchy, who they live with, how they spend their time, and really most other aspects of their lives. Being a kid sucks because for the most part, kids are powerless.

Adults don't always have free choice either. You need a job to pay rent, buy food, and have money, you need to finish education to get a job, and you need money to get an education, which is circular and difficult. Let's not even talk about if you're married and have kids, in which case you have far more obligations and I rest my case entirely. But you do still have a lot more say. You get to decide what you want to study and what job you want to have. Not all jobs make the same amount of money, but you get to decide that too: how important is money to you? If it's very important, you can be a programmer, a lawyer, a dentist or a doctor, an engineer, or many other things – you still have a wide range of choices for things that satisfy that value. If money is a lower priority, maybe a passion like art is a higher one, and you'd rather become a graphic designer knowing that you might have to live with roommates, travel less, and watch your expenses more closely. You get to choose your job, where to live, who to live with and spend time with, and so so many other things! You lucky adult you, on your path to the life of your own choosing. People forget how much say they have in their lives. And often people lose track of their priorities, and they work hard to get through med school because they think the prestige of being a doctor is a top value for them, and eventually they realize prestige won't make them happy and they have to re-evaluate what they want out of life and work towards a new goal. That happens. And it's unfortunate that we feel the pressure of other people's expectations so highly that we study for jobs we don't actually want, but in the end, it's on us to do a little soul-searching and figure out what we really want to be doing with our lives, because lucky us! We have the power to make those decisions! Wow, that's awesome!

Despite spending a full page talking about my various neuroses, I'm a fairly optimistic person, and the point of this whole meandering post is really just to say: look, you're an adult and you have responsibilities that are sometimes stressful, but you have a lot to be thankful for. And would you really rather be 13? No, I didn't think so. So stop telling people younger than you that they have it so good, and start appreciating what you have now that you didn't have before! I believe my father when he says that every year is better than the last, and every wrinkle is earned and not regretted, and that is how I want to live my life.

Things I learned about sports (and lots of gooey sentiments)

I wrote this at the end of last year in honor of fencing and frisbee and how much they've done for me, but I never ended up finishing it. Here it is now, finished and edited... although I'm sure I will add more things to this list as I continue learning things about sports.

Things I've learned from sports from freshman year:

1) It doesn't matter what it is, but do it.

Have you ever loved something so much it hurts? Something you just wanted to throw yourself into completely out of love for the thing and the people and the everything about it? I think a lot of people had at least one of those in high school. For me it was musical theater, and at least for a little while, marching band. Thinking about putting on a show in theater or performing a “golden show” in competition for band made my belly ache just thinking about it, I wanted it so much. All my friends were in band, and my few friends who weren't soon dropped out of my life because I didn't have time to spend with them and all I wanted to talk about was music, anyway. I considered majoring in music my sophomore year. I didn't tell anyone, because I was embarrassed to be considering the prospect when I wasn't really good enough to make it work. But it was an obsession and an addiction and my whole life, and I couldn't imagine not centering my life on music.

I fully intended to join a band in college, but it didn't happen. Somewhere between my two sports and classes and meeting new people and having exciting new experiences, I didn't make time for it. But the full force of my slightly obsessive personality is now fixated on sports. To a certain extent, it doesn't matter what you do – if you have a passion for music, sports, theater, art, fantasy, gay rights, video games, etc etc – all that matters is that you do something and throw yourself into it and love it. I couldn't imagine living without music, but I also love sports and it was easier than I would have thought to give up music by replacing it with frisbee and fencing.

So if I ramble constantly about fencing and tell you fencing jokes and “this one time at a tournament” stories and won't shut up about how boss my frisbee team is, please forgive me. I fell in love.

2) You are capable of so much more than you think. Confidence is everything.

I've run track and cross-country, did marching band, and played frisbee for years. I'm no stranger to exercise. But being on Bella Donna (my frisbee team) has been the most demanding sport I've been a part of. 2 workouts a week, 1 practice a week, 2 weight-lifting sessions a week when we managed it, tournaments every weekend in March and April, and all those nights practicing until midnight in the Shell made for a difficult year. It was difficult with respect to time-management, balancing practice with fencing and classes and homework and studying and sleep and eating and a social life often seemed impossible, and sometimes I slipped up and and fell behind (usually with sleep and studying).

It was difficult physically – I don't think there's a single girl on our team who went uninjured all season. Working out and playing that much take their toll on your body, but it felt like disappointing the team to be injured, so most of us would suck it up and play through minor injuries like pulled muscles and rolled ankles, only taking time out if absolutely necessary. Most days I had 2 hours of fencing practice, an hour break during which I would sometimes but not always get the chance to eat dinner, and then either an hour-and-a-half workout or a 3-hour practice for frisbee. Sometimes I would watch the clock creep closer and closer to midnight, just wishing I could go home and catch up on sleep and rest my aching muscles.

There was a period of time in early spring semester when I didn't put much enthusiasm into either sport, and I'm a little bit ashamed of that now. Because what I've learned is that even when you think you're exhausted, that's just your brain. Your body is a remarkable thing and is way more resilient than you think it is. During your 4^th game on a Sunday of a hard tournament, you can simply convince yourself that you have more in you, and voilà! Somehow it's there. If my girl is running deep, I used to believe that she was faster and let her beat me, but rather recently I've discovered that I'm faster than I thought, and if I go in with a head full of confident arrogance and a heart full of belief in myself, I can almost always beat her. During my 6^th workout in 3 days when I'm feeling worn down and dispirited, I can just tell myself that I'm excited about it and still have plenty of energy, and somehow I always do. Why waste time believing you have limits when your body hasn't given up yet?

This belief in oneself, this confidence, is also a huge factor in fencing. One of my foil mentors (hey Stephen!) likes to tell me I fence too timidly, which cracks me up because I'm an incredibly aggressive fencer as long as I stay in control of the bout. (He is right, though – as soon as the other person takes control of the bout and puts me on defense, I lose confidence and my limited ability to plan ahead.) But I will unashamedly brag about how well I did at club nationals in Tennessee, because I decided I was going to be a boss and scare the crap out of every girl I faced on the strip, and surprisingly it worked! My strategy is to be fast and aggressive and scare them until I hit them with my incredibly large lunge that they really should have parried if they weren't so intimidated. Against better fencers, this wouldn't work at all, but apparently this is good enough for club level fencing.

On a more philosophical note, it is my experience and my belief that people become what you expect them to be. If you treat someone like a criminal and a delinquent, there's a darn good chance they'll act like one. In high school I would get in trouble for breaking rules that I only broke in spirit, like getting disciplined for “ditching class” when I really only ditched school rallies because I hated that we were required to go to them. They had strict rules precisely because they expected us to push the limits and break all of them, and so I did. While on the other extreme, my parents treated me like I was a responsible, independent adult capable of making rational decisions from about age 12 or so. I can't even imagine how horrible it would be to let them down, since they believe that I'm a better person than I really am. So I try to live up to their expectations, and when I fail, it hurts and sometimes I try to hide it. So whatever you want people to be like? Treat them like they already are as kind, responsible, etc as you expect them to be, and hopefully it will push them in the right direction. Expectation is powerful, and I don't know which is more powerful: the effect other people's expectations have on you, or your own. But your own are far easier to hack. So go believe yourself into being good at math, sports, music, languages, and especially people skills. I believe it works for all of these.

3) Your teammates might just be the most influential people you'll meet.

It's hard to just generate confidence on your own though. A lot of us don't believe in ourselves and can't just start with a snap of the fingers. That's where the sidelines come in. On Bella, we really emphasize the importance of the “8^th man on the field”: the players on the sideline. This is useful for practical and strategic reasons (telling the defensive players where the disc is and where they can be to play most effectively, for example) but also to give you the much-needed confidence boost when your fuel tanks are flagging and you don't believe you're fast anymore. You need people to believe in you for you sometimes, and for me that takes the form of my weight-lifting buddy Romy screaming her head off at me on the sidelines telling me “You're so fast, Ikwe! Deeeep! DEEEEEP!”. Or it's our coach Robyn sobbing after a point with too many turnovers to count in the most important game of our season, because she believes in us so much and was so overwhelmed with pride that we stuck it out and won the point. It's standing in a huddle, looking around at the determined faces of your teammates, knowing there is no one you'd rather play with, because we believe in ourselves and each other and we've worked so hard together to learn that trust. Being a part of a team is a powerful feeling. It makes you better AND it's the single most rewarding thing about playing a sport.

I've met so many amazing people through sports. They've inspired me and changed me and I feel incredibly lucky to know them. I was consistently humbled by the dedication and fire of the senior players on Bella (Forty, I'm looking at you) who never seem to lose intensity and are always working to become the best players they can be. My fellow new players learned the same lessons I did this year about time-management and pushing through pain and fatigue, and we've lived the same struggles and figured them out together. As for fencing, well, I owe everything to the senior foilists on the team. We have a coach, but he can't teach us all individually, so it's no exaggeration to say everything I've learned about fencing is thanks to David, Stephen, and Ruby. They gave up so much of their practice time to teach me, and were somehow patient through the frustrations of learning how to treat a thin piece of metal as an extension of your arm which is in turn an extension of the wire springs that are a fencer's legs. And we got to know each other, somehow we all became best friends. I guess fencing attracts a certain kind of personality, quirky and interesting and intelligent and kind. All I know is I could spend all day talking about how cool my fencing friends are, Stephen who's like a brother to me, Victoria who's a 500% nicer version of me, Foil-Mama David, Tommy who crushes lizard skulls in his free time, Sean the adorably neurotic punk, I could go on and on. What a cast of characters. There should be a reality TV show about us. Anyway, I didn't mean to go on and on about my friends because that's not very interesting to read about, but the point of all of this was that when you play sports, you become close with your teammates which is the best way of making friends I've found so far. And I am a very different person thanks to the people I met last year and my relationships with them.

4) You belong on the field.

In organized sports, everyone has a role. In frisbee, you're a handler or a cutter. No matter where you are on the field, you know what your job is. If you're a chaser, you look to open a window deep and then come under either as a continue or as a cut if the shots did not get open. (Yes, I realize this means nothing to you if you don't play frisbee.) On defense you're even more necessary. If it's man-on-man defense, you have to follow your girl, and if you don't do that, in all likelihood she'll score and that point is all your fault. In zone defense you're responsible for an area of the field, and not doing that makes the rest of the defense fall apart. My point is, you are necessary when you're on the field. You can't hang back because you think the other people on your team will do a better job. You know what you need to do and your team is relying on you to do it.

My coach Robyn mentioned an article that I can't seem to find right now talking about how women's sports (and specifically Ultimate) are so important because they teach women to be unafraid of their bodies, unafraid to take up space and be physical and use what they've got. All too often I see girls who try to take up the least amount of space possible. If they're tall, they stoop a little in embarrassment. They weave through crowds where large men usually just walk straight and people move aside for them. I experimented recently with not moving out of my way for people on sidewalks, just to see what would happen. I got ran into a lot and got some surprised looks, and eventually figured out a technique of walking with squared shoulders, head up, and looking people in the eyes that somehow made people step aside for me. This is why girls should play frisbee. Take up space! Box your girl out, and run as aggressively as you can in her space without making it a foul. I saw this at camp this summer too – when girls don't have mirrors for 4 weeks and are forbidden from using makeup or wearing pretty clothes by the circumstances they're in, somehow they become more comfortable with their bodies. They get muscle from canoeing, they get pride from portaging canoes on their head, and they get respect for how hard they work. They're worth what they can carry, what they can do to help, and how they contribute to the group, not what they look like. (Incidentally, one of my favorite parts of being a counselor was getting to break the mirrors off the port-a-potties so they wouldn't see themselves for 4 weeks. 21 years of bad luck here I come!!)

I want everyone to feel like they belong in whatever space they're occupying. Sometimes I'm on the field not knowing where to cut or how to help, but my goal now is to just cut more until I figure out how to do it better. By not participating, you're hurting your team, so get out there and be a presence on the field. You belong in your space. Own it.

So go out and play a sport. You might learn something. I learn something every single practice, and it's an amazing feeling.

Summer

I haven't written at all this summer, and I have a lot of things to write about and don't quite know where to start. I finished freshman year, did lifeguard training, became a Voyageur camp counselor, chilled in Minneapolis and then the North Woods near Minocqua, came home, and went backpacking in the Emigrant Wilderness. It was a summer of laughter, love, learning, and lots of other clichés. I went looking for myself and found me in the woods where I belong. I learned that the most rewarding thing I could be doing is teaching high schoolers how to camp and appreciate the wilderness like I do, teaching them how to take care of themselves, be responsible, and have the confidence and maturity of the young adults they are becoming.

Being a camp counselor was a crazy and wonderful experience. I've always loved French camp, but I love it even more now. It changed my life and gave me a sense of self-worth when I was 14 and didn't love myself, showed me that I had valuable skills and interesting things to learn from interesting people. And that makes it very powerful for me to see that change happening in others. My family knows – when I came home all I could talk about was my campers, how cool they were and how much they learned and how proud I am. It's an intoxicating feeling, especially for someone only a few years older than they are, who's never experienced being a teacher before.

I'm still undecided; I don't have a major yet and don't plan on choosing one soon because I'm still exploring. But if I could be a camp counselor all year round, I would. I'm starting to look at outdoor schools and alternative education programs in the woods, because I believe so strongly in the good it does. I don't want to be a teacher because I don't want to sit in a classroom all day, but I do want to teach kids and see their confidence grow and watch them get better at French, or being responsible, or lighting campfires. We'll see where this takes me, but I've been waiting and waiting to see what I feel called to do, where my passion lies... and if there's anything I'm passionate about, it's this. I struggle with the idea of not doing something more academic, that the child of my brilliant parents “should” be doing, but on the other hand, I know that teaching makes a difference in the world, and in the end that's what I want.

Enough of pondering what to do with my life; I still have time before I have to decide anything. So camp was full of glorious sunrises and sunsets, cold Northern lakes and sun-warmed granite, beaches that disappeared under 5 feet of extra water and trees drowning in the record flooding, learning how to teach, loons, and sleepless nights packing equipment and writing blog posts. (I'm the blogmaster at camp! Here it is: (link) But I'm not responsible for all those 2^nd session posts, so read everything earlier than July 22^nd to get the stuff I worked on!) We had an amazing staff who are all very close to my heart, and amazing kids who worked hard, learned a ton of French, and suffered admirably through mosquitoes, cold nights, broken canoes, and last-minute changes of plan like always happen at Voyageurs. After one week of staff training and four weeks of campers, I left for Minneapolis, hung out with family, and ran my first 5k. I “trained” briefly with my cousin, meaning we went on a total of two runs, and then matched each other neck-and-neck during the whole race, finishing 15^th and 16^th place with the same time of 23:08. (That's a 7:27 mile time, and I was the 3^rd woman to finish! Yes I almost threw up after the race... worth it!) I think 5k is a great distance for me and I'd like to run more of them and improve my time. My dad and Grace ran it too, and did pretty well. My dad finished 2^nd in the 60+ category and was mad at the one 60-year-old who had the nerve to beat him.

Then I headed up to Minocqua with family, and had a week of relaxing at the cabin, running and swimming across the lake every day. My aunt is an amazing cook and spoils us rotten, so even though the cabin sounds like a rustic place, it's actually the height of luxury. Still, I was glad to get home, see friends, and play pickup Frisbee again.

But I can't stay out of the woods for long. I was invited by my good friend Tim to go on an “advanced” backpacking trip in the Emigrant Wilderness with 3 other experienced backpackers. I was the wild card; I had never gone backpacking with any of them before, but Tim assumed I could keep up because of the sports I play and my experiences backpacking and canoeing. What I wasn't used to was being the slowest one of the group. This crew was intense. We took plenty of long breaks, so much so that it felt practically leisurely, but when we were on the trail we hiked fast and covered a lot of terrain. A typical backpacking day that I'd plan for with my family or less experienced friends would be about 7 miles – that sounds short, but miles are different when you're at altitude, have to change elevation, carry a heavy pack, and are on rugged terrain. We were doing 11 mile days and still had so much daylight left over that we'd spend hours just lying in alpine meadows or swimming in granite lakes.

Excerpts from my journal: (August 19) “We broke out of the rocky stark mountains and came upon this beautiful high meadow, a plateau covered in green grass and abundantly strewn with wildflowers – Indian paintbrush, lupin, and many more I didn't recognize. Turning around we had a view of the granite peaks we just climbed, stark against the blue sky, and turning south to where we were headed, we could see a grey thundercloud starting to form. It was one of the most beautiful places I've ever seen, with so many different kinds of beauty juxtaposed. So we hiked into the thundercloud that awaited us....” Fortunately we got our tents up before the skies opened up too much.

(20 August) “It rained during the night and everything was wet, but we were still without water, so we decided to eat breakfast at the next water source and dry out our tents then. So off we went, through a meadow strewn with dew. Everything was in miniature, from the stunted pine trees to the tiny perfect flowers and blades of grass, beaded with water so each was translucent and sparkling in the morning sun. It makes you lose your sense of size, like you're a giant in a world of dwarf plants. Four miles later, we finally stopped to eat breakfast at Deer Lake...” That night there was a beautiful sunset and then a sky so clear and star-strewn that it was hard to pick out constellations because there were too many stars. We stayed up late just looking at the sky and making our own constellations. The next morning there was frost on the ground.

On Thursday we hiked cross-country to Snow Lake, following an unmaintained trail which we lost halfway over a mountain. Going up was fun, hopping from boulder to boulder, and finally standing on top of the peak and seeing the view all the way down the long valley to Huckleberry Lake in the distance, spreading our arms and shouting “I AM ON TOP OF THE WORLD!” into the wind. But the way down the other side was tough on my knees and Kate's and Tim's ankles. So our “short day” didn't feel very short, because hiking cross-country is a horse of a different color.

The last two days were less beautiful and more strenuous. We were above the treeline for much of it, hiking at high altitudes which made our hands puffy and our faces windburned. The wind was enough to drive anyone mad, especially on Friday when we hiked over Big Sam and had to walk with a wide stance and bent knees to avoid being blown off the mountain. Even during the evening while we were cooking dinner at Leavitt Lake the wind howled mercilessly around us, making it a cold and haunting place to be. When it finally died down a couple hours after sunset we were incredibly grateful to be able to sleep in silence and warmth. On Saturday we hiked out of Sonora Pass, and Tim and I hitchhiked back to Kennedy Meadows to get our car. My first experience with hitchhiking was an astonishingly easy one: literally the first car that was going in the right direction stopped to pick us up, two nice old guys who were happy to give us a lift all the way to the parking lot where we left the car.

I feel humbled and accomplished at the same time to have done this 55 mile week with backpackers who could leave me in the dust. I would go again in a heartbeat, but it's a good reminder for me that you can do a lot more than you think you can, and that you're not the most hardcore person out there just because you go camping a lot.

How did summer go by so quickly? I don't feel ready to go back to classes yet. I do feel ready to see my friends in Madison, get back to fencing and back to my frisbee team. But I wasn't ready to leave home. There's some very special people in Sunnyvale who I'm going to miss a lot more than I'd like to admit. So here I am on an airplane somewhere over the middle of the country, sleep-deprived because I stayed up late packing, a little buzzed on caffeine, writing about how great my summer was and confused about whether my eyes are wet from happiness or sadness. All I can say is I hope this semester goes as well as summer did, because this summer was perfect.

One semester of awesome

Well, I survived my first semester of college. It wasn't too hard! Here are some of the highlights and things I've been up to, in no particular order:

- I wrote a research paper about women in the sagas and how they are portrayed as powerful, a character type that ought to exist more today. I didn't think I was the sort to read into gender roles, but apparently I am. I am still struck by the images of Gudrun, Brynhild, Gunnhilda, and Aslaug – powerful, revengeful women, yet still sympathetic characters (not antagonists like the Wicked Witch of the West or Maleficent) and heroines in their own right. And it really did leave me wondering why I always pretended to be male characters when I was little and played pretend. Knights, heroes, captains... with the exception of Eowyn (and I would have rather pretended to be Legolas or Aragorn when it came right down to it), I was at a loss for strong female role models in popular fiction. It certainly didn't bother me at the time, and no one ever told me “Put down that sword, that's not a girl's toy!” But now I find it food for thought nonetheless.

This is yet another reason the Hunger Games series is so fantastic. A strong, emotionally stable warrior heroine helps her sweet but weak and dependent (boy)friend Peeta survive. (Hilarious and accurate article on this here.)

-I tried out for the UW women's ultimate team, Bella Donna, and joined them! It's been a lot of fun and I've learned a lot. It's also been pretty intense and hard to manage with also doing fencing. Fortunately, I've managed to keep my body in pretty good working repair and have had only minor issues with the arches of my feet and my back playing up like usual. It's always a trade-off between being in shape and wearing down one's body, though I'd rather get more than enough exercise than not enough.

-Fencing has gone well too. Since I have no experience with fencing and it's not as competitive, it's almost more of a social outlet. (Fortunately for me, since I definitely couldn't handle two sports like frisbee.) A lot of my favorite people are in fencing as well as this kid I'm dating oh wait I guess I should say “my boyfriend” now. He said I should write a blog post about him (egotistical, I know) but I don't know how I can do that without sounding all gushy and stupid. Oh well. Let it just be known that I am happy. Perhaps later when I'm more comfortable with writing about my personal life I'll tell you all about him.

-All of my priorities and things I thought were important to me changed. I thought I was going to college to figure out what subject fascinates me and to delve deep into whatever that is, but my favorite memories from the past semester are all very much social. I even have become less introverted and need more time with people. Favorite moments include 3 am talk with friends, getting to know people at the beginning of the semester, blanket forts in the basement, parties (which I hated last year, remember?), goofing off at fencing, dressing up for Halloween, sledding on Observatory Hill, and filming a group project with some very silly friends. I have time to figure out what I want to do, so this year is for shits and giggles and snowball fights. It's been a time very much of figuring out who I am now that I'm not living at home or in someone else's home in France, now that I have the confidence to be me and the freedom to do what I feel like doing and all the opportunity that comes with living on a very dynamic, exciting social campus. And apparently that person is a happy, somewhat impulsive, very active young woman by the name of Ikwe.

It's very strange to think about the year 2013 as a whole. I felt like life started over when I got to college, and I forget that I left France only 6 months ago. Studying abroad is a chapter of your life that gets to be very separate from everything else, almost like a whole different life. Coming to Madison, I had already been away from home for a year and yet I had just shut the door behind me on my experience in France, never intending to look back. Essentially, I came with nothing, knowing no one, having very few ties left to anything. And leaving Madison to come back to California, as I waited for the bus to take me to the airport, I realized that I have everything I could possibly want here. A lot can change in a semester. It's true that the years pass faster and faster as we get older, but to a certain extent this is counterbalanced by how much change there is in life at this age. In high school we don't see the years go by because they're all more or less the same, but 2012 and 2013 both had so much change that a new year seems like a new world.

I'm so pleased with where I am now that I'm having a problem I have never had before: I don't want anything to change and for once I'm not champing at the bit waiting for the year to pass. I didn't even want to make a decision about housing for next year because I just wanted to live with the exact same people in Cole again. This unprecedented contentment with the present, of course, doesn't mean I'm not excited for 2014: 2014 will have Israel, an awesome second semester, hopefully working at French camp and other summer shenanigans, and the first semester of sophomore year living on the Scandinavian Studies floor. I hope it will be even more awesome than the past semester has been. Cheers to the New Year! May the year ahead of you hold adventure, learning, laughter along with the occasional cathartic cry, serendipity and spontaneity, a healthy sense of romance, late night heart-to-hearts, good books, and good friends.

College is awesome

I'm not writing anything because everything is perfect. What do you even write about when there's nothing wrong? I have noticed before that happiness is the emotion the least conducive to creativity. At the beginning of high school when I started to ground my life with marching band and things were looking up, I briefly mourned the demise of my dark poetry and melancholy artistic ways. Briefly, of course, because being happy is so much better than being sad, but it is a strange kind of shock when a part of your identity (being a writer) goes away.

I don't know why introspection should be negatively correlated with happiness. Perhaps it isn't relevant. Perhaps I'm confusing correlation and causation, and I just don't have the time to be introspective and I'm happy because I'm busy with things I enjoy. I don't know, and I can't bring myself to care either. The goal of life seems to be to find happiness, and I seem to have found it.

So since I don't have anything to complain about, and I feel bad for not writing for over a month, here comes the actual life update with as little introspection as ever happens with me. Classes are going quite well: I'm taking an interest group set of three classes about Vikings which comprises Swedish, folklore, and sagas (Norse mythology). Learning Swedish has been a reminder of how much I love learning languages and how it really is a talent of mine. I have to take linguistics next semester and figure out if this is what I want to study. I'm also taking Calc II, the most failed class in Madison with the worst professor in Madison. Surprisingly, I'm doing okay in that too. My first calc midterm was probably the first test I've successfully studied for in my life. Usually the studying doesn't happen, or I don't do enough of it for it to work.

That's enough about classes, since I haven't been focused on classes in the slightest. I've also been trying to win a competition with no one in particular to see how many extra-curriculars I can physically do. So far, this mostly involves either fencing or frisbee practice every night of the week, and sometimes both. Yes, I fence foil now! It's exactly as awesome as it sounds. And just because that clearly isn't enough exercise, I've been running along the beautiful Lakeshore path, and occasionally going rock climbing. I'd say this continues to support my previous hypothesis that exercise is one of the best things you can do to be happy.

Other than that, I hang out with people – wow, I have lots of really interesting friends! This is new and exciting! And I mean no offense to my dear old friends from high school when I say this, but I am simply astonished at how easy it is to meet fascinating people in college as opposed to, well, everywhere else, and how great it is to have friends from many different places (classes, sports, dorms, random encounters) who are different and wonderful and interesting all in their own ways. Gone are the days when I could only be friends with band geeks. Before, band was a good litmus test of compatibility: they were generally a more intelligent and interested bunch than those who weren't in band. But now, I meet awesome people on such a regular basis, I no longer even need ways of sorting people into “potential friends” and “the rest of those losers.”

What else... dorm life! I thought I would hate the dorms, because I like peace and quiet and need a lot of personal introvert time. I was concerned about having a roommate for that reason and because I could tell we were very different. But I love the dorms! I like my roommate and the fact that we are very different, because we get along wonderfully but don't talk so much that I can't have introvert-recharging time in my room. Almost from day one our floor bonded over everything and nothing, and we have the best atmosphere. Everyone leaves their doors open and we're all pretty much friends. The first couple weeks I kept thinking how much like summer camp it felt. Why did no one tell me that college is just like summer camp?

I assumed coming in that the first couple weeks would be hard, that it would take me awhile to find friends, and I'd question if it was going to be okay and why did I even decide to come here anyway. That's just normal, I assumed – it'll just be like an easier version of France. But that did not happen at all. From day one I felt at home here and knew I could be friends with these people. There were a few days in mid-September when I wondered when the euphoria would wear off. I assume euphoria isn't sustainable, that one day I'll realize it isn't as incredible as I thought it was and things will revert back to normal. That hasn't happened at all either.

I catch myself just grinning like an idiot as I walk to classes, thinking about what I'm studying, something funny a friend said, my plans for the weekend. Thinking about life, formerly an introspective and quiet process, just makes me smile uncontrollably now. It makes people smile back at me, which is funny. They look happy and bemused to see that I'm happy. Today I walked past someone who had pretty much the same goofy grin on his face that I did, and it just made me laugh, knowing I wasn't alone and wondering what he was so pleased about.

I'm also in love with Lakeshore, the dorm neighborhood I live in. We're on the far west side of campus, away from downtown and the loud drunken parties that Madison is notorious for, near the lake and the woods and great running paths. Of course, we can still go to the crazy parties, the difference is just that we get to come home to relative peace and quiet when we want to. All of Lakeshore is incredibly beautiful, and the smaller dorm sizes mean that people talk to each other more here. The one complaint I have about dorm life is the food. The dining hall options are not great. For the first few weeks I ate barely anything because nothing was appetizing and I was too excited to eat anyway. Now I've figured out that I can cook decent food in our basement kitchen when I want good food, and I know what the better options in the dining hall are when I don't want to cook. Cooking, of course, has also become a social event, just like everything else when you live with a bunch of awesome people.

Some nights, of course, you just need to sit and study in your room with a bowl of ramen, both because sometimes studying actually needs to happen and for social recharging. And that's fine, too. For awhile I had some bad FOMO (that's Fear of Missing Out), afraid that every minute I wasn't trying to forge new connections would be my eventual downfall, as everyone would have formed these great social groups and connections but me. Apparently, this is quite a common problem among college freshmen. You get over it, that's all. You get friends, you become secure in your new social environment, and it stops being as big of an issue. Tonight everyone is out at Freakfest, which is Madison's big Halloween shebang, while I'm embracing my claustrophobic crowd-hating instincts and sitting in my room writing and listening to excellent music.

I love life I love school I love people I love friends I love sports I love Madison and that is my life right now. I apologize for the lack of coherence and direction to this post; it is simply meant as an update so everyone knows I didn't die. And yes, I am realizing that it's a lot more difficult to blog when I don't have to for my internship and I'm far busier. Have a wonderful week, faithful readers!

It Gets Better

So I'm in college now. I guess this makes me officially old. You'll laugh at that, of course – not old, but in truth an independent adult. And of course, all the changes to my life right now mean that this blog is going to be changing as well. I no longer have the single theme of living abroad to focus on, nor do I have an internship that requires me to blog about my everyday life. Instead I'd like to write more about what already inspires me most – politics, culture, feminism, and people-watching (social observations!). Obviously I haven't hesitated to do so during this past year, and these posts have also been the most successful, with my most-read posts being, in order, I have a massive crush on humanity on the negativity of radical feminism, 5 things about feminism I agree with, my personal favorite The American Essence on American intellectualism, ambition, and competition (which I consider a summary of all my thoughts on living in France), and finally Charity, discussing how to rationally make the world a better place. Clearly my faithful readers agree with me on which topics are the most interesting. With that being said, I'll be writing much less about my day-to-day life and more about the interesting stuff. Today I'm going to write about what it's like to be awkward, a topic I've been meaning to cover for ages (and covered briefly here).

Imagine that you are a martian. You are trying to fit in on Earth, even though you are very unlike the Earthlings. And you are terrified that they will find out your true identity, that you are Not One of Them. You get the feeling that everything you do isn't the right (well, normal) way to do things, right down to the clothes you wear, the lunches you eat, the things that interest you, and the way you staple your homework together. Ok, maybe that last one is an exaggeration, but maybe not. I was joking with my dear friend May about “not getting the memo” – that is, when I was in middle school I didn't get the memo that stretchy pants weren't socially acceptable, I didn't get the memo when everyone started shaving their legs, etc. Maybe other girls have mothers who explain these things to them, or maybe they're just more aware of their surroundings, I don't know. But either way, I never got the memo, and somehow this contributed to the feeling of being not the same species as those around me.

One thing I always admired is how people with confidence acknowledge their differences without thinking it's awkward or special. People have lots of variations in their everyday lives, and sometimes they don't learn all the same things at the same time. Some of my new friends in college just learned how to do laundry this weekend, whereas I've been doing mine since age 11 or so. Some people drink a lot of juice, some people like milk. These personal differences are even more obvious when we're all living in the dorms together. But a few years ago, I never would have been able to say “I don't know how to straighten my hair” and be comfortable with it. Being under the impression that every other girl on the planet had obtained this skill, it would have seemed like an admission that I was a different species, and not a simple “I am a person who has never felt the need to straighten my hair before.” At best, I would have made a big deal out of it, turning it into a label – I've always liked labels way too much. It would have been “I am not a stupid valley girl/fashionista/preppy girl, so (since I am proud of being different and a nerd), of COURSE I don't know how to straighten my hair!” when in reality it is silly to either be ashamed of or make a statement out of such a simple difference.

I don't know what makes people get this feeling. I've heard feeling that we are very different from those around us is one of the classic signs of an introvert, but it also has a lot to do with confidence (a trait not particularly correlated with introversion or extroversion). A lack of confidence was a big factor in making my middle school years (and my year in France, for that matter) unpleasant. Fortunately, this is a trait that can be developed. I remember really wanting to write about this topic a few months ago, but since coming back to the US I have had much less difficulty with this, and no longer feel as strongly about it. The whole reason I am still dedicating a post to it is to talk about how it gets better.

In case you aren't familiar with the It Gets Better project, it's a project to reach out to LGBTQ youth and tell them that life really does get better. Don't give up. It won't always be this bad. I wish this project existed in a more generic form, just to tell all adolescents struggling with depression that it'll get better. I certainly had a very painful middle school experience, and each year with the possible exception of France has been better than the last. Talking to the younger siblings of my friends, I can tell everyone goes through the same things. We all have been hormonal, alienated, mean to others or bullied by others or both, and constantly on the brink of giving up. I wish I could talk to myself from five years ago just to give myself a little hope. And that is also something I'd like to do with this blog, but for those who come after me.

Step number one is just to realize that everyone is human, not robots. They all have differences and awkwardnesses as well. Maybe the kid sitting next to you put on his T-shirt inside-out this morning and only fixed it when someone made fun of him. To you, you don't even question whether it's “weird” or not, but he might feel as mortified about that as you feel when someone thought you were weird for not plucking your eyebrows. And maybe the girl who discovered you don't pluck your eyebrows now feels weird wondering if she is the only one who does. Who knows? The point is, when it happens to other people, you don't notice. It seems normal, because it is normal for humans to have lots of variation. So when it happens to you, don't react like someone just saw through your eyes into your naked soul. Just be cool. Laugh it off. There is no normal.

Another thing that helps sometimes is to break open your boundaries and talk to people about routines – things you wouldn't normally talk about. Some people are very good at the kind of everyday humor that comes with being comfortable with this, for example, telling a funny story about tripping on his own flipflop and faceplanting in front of some cute girls. If someone else can tell this story and it's hilarious and makes you feel closer to them, why can't you do the same? Answer: you probably can. The other day I tripped walking to the dining hall and a group of people were walking behind me. A few years ago I would have kept going without saying a word, wishing the ground would open up and swallow me. But then, I looked back and said “You didn't see that, right?” with a conspiratorial wink. They laughed and we ended up having a really nice conversation. Bonus social points for me! So if this is a problem you suffer from as well, go tell someone about putting too much milk on your cereal this morning and how it got soggy and sucked. Maybe they'll even think you're funny.

When I originally intended to write this post several months ago, it was going to be solely about the odd sensation of being a complete outsider, both as an explanation to those less socially challenged than I and as a request to know if others experience the same thing. But I've been losing interest in this topic. At first this disappointed me – darn, I should've written it when I first had the idea – but it's actually a very good thing. I lost interest because I don't usually feel like this anymore, because everything's been getting better. (I really need these messages of hope right now because a friend of mine is going through some serious depression and I feel the need to broadcast the It Gets Better message, so bear with me.)

I have often worried that life is nothing more than a waiting game. In middle school, I just waited for high school so all my problems would go away. In high school, I waited for the beginning of every marching band season, I waited for summer, but most of all I waited for college. Junior year I found out I was going abroad, and I waited to leave everything I knew, start over, and I assumed that from there everything would be perfect. In France, I just waited to go home. The obvious concern here is this: what if it never does get better? What if I spend my whole life waiting, but happiness is not actually dependent on the particular situation of the present, and I'll never attain it?

But now I'm in college. I've never looked forward to something beyond college – never longed for a family or a grown-up job. So this is the endgame of waiting, the final test to see if the waiting is forever or if it gets fulfilled. And guess what? I'm not waiting anymore. I never catch myself thinking “It'll be better when X is over,” or “It'll be better when I get to do Y.” Sometimes the days pass slowly, because there's too much to do and it can be stressful and overwhelming. More often the days disappear like will-o'-the-wisps, as full of laughter as of stress, fulfilling even when they're wearing. I've only been here two weeks, but I've met some amazing people and I even feel like I belong. A dieu, my life as a martian. Welcome to feeling like a real person. This isn't to say there are never hard moments. I know I'm going to struggle with two of my classes this semester, and some days life just isn't as cheery as I wish it could be. But I'm where I'm supposed to be, in a pretty ideal environment for doing what I want to do.

This has been a scatter-brained three pages. I didn't know what I wanted to say, and life has been overwhelming. But what it comes down to is this: If life sucks, hang on. I believe that it'll get better. I believe that one day you'll be happy where you are. Yesterday was World Suicide Prevention Day, and recently I've been hearing about way too many suicides or attempted suicides. I know that sometimes life seems hopeless, but I don't think it is. Even if it takes a really long time to get there, it will get better. Have hope.

Home

CIEE sent me a folder about reverse culture shock, along with a t-shirt and a lunchbox. (A lunchbox? Really? How odd.) After all this, it seems ridiculous to get a t-shirt, as if that meant anything about my year abroad. It's not like marching band shirts, which you wear for solidarity, or the shirts I bought in France, which have memories associated with them. So it just seemed like a rather strange afterthought. But anyway, I read the paper on reverse culture shock, since the pattern about culture shock in the host country had been more personally accurate than I would have expected.

And so far, I have experienced none of it. Perhaps this is because I saw my family 3 weeks before coming home, and thus had a gradual and unusual reunion with my former life. Perhaps it is because I thought about it so often, and realized in advance that I was probably idealizing home and should expect disappointment. For whatever reason, coming home was just plain coming home. Everything feels routine and I fell into all the same habits I had before that I had lost this year: eating whatever, whenever, instead of 3 big meals a day, going to bed at 2 with no one scolding me, sleeping in my hammock, taking the car to meet up with friends when I want to, drinking delicious American milk (not UHT), and all the other freedoms I used to have. I have changed, but my relationships with my friends have also fallen back into place seamlessly and effortlessly, as the parts of me that have changed are not parts of me that would show up at home. I am better at being assertive, being brave in another language, I have accepted the culture of my region and my high school and all that in France, and yet at home I fall back into the culture I grew up in... so why would I be any different? Perhaps the only legitimate feeling I could have of “They don't understand me!” would be resentment that no one can witness how much I have changed, and yet that seems a petty thought, and I already knew and accepted before coming back that no one will understand what I lived through. I don't need that affirmation.

So life goes on, and I guess to all appearances it hasn't changed. But now I have two homes – a year is a long time and I don't feel like I'm over-dramatizing by saying this. I belong in France just as much as I do here. My experiences in college will be viewed through two lenses: a Silicon Valley kid, with all the inner voices and experiences of my family and friends, and a girl from the Vendée, with other views from my host family and friends.

It is a terrible and wonderful thing to have two homes. It means that no matter where I am, I will be homesick for somewhere else. I will always be comparing, and blaming the things I don't like on being in the wrong place. I'll never (for the rest of my life) be in a position of not missing anyone.

When I'm at home, I tend to believe that wanderlust is natural and right, one of the highest, most enlightened callings one can have in life. I have this vision that I'll spend my life roaming from country to country, with a network of friends and family across the globe, and enough life experiences to write a Game of Thrones -sized book about. Some of my counselors from French camp have been like that, and I guess they've inspired me. And yet when I'm abroad I wonder if man's greatest purpose is instead nurturing our roots, staying with the family and friends we love, in a culture that understands us so much more perfectly. Sometimes the whole “going abroad to learn and change” thing seems silly and irrelevant. But then I come home again, and decide that going to somewhere in Scandinavia or Francophone Africa would be the next greatest adventure ever, and I'm already restless. One can debate the merits of traveling or of staying home, but in the end maybe I just don't have a choice. I'm driven by my wanderlust to do things that I can't really regret, because I come out a different person at the end. So if in two years' time I'm writing about trying to fit in in Sweden, cursing the fact that I didn't learn my lesson during my stay in France, you can all remind me that I just don't have a choice.

Fin, and Europe pt 1

I haven't posted for two weeks. The longer I wait to post, the more I have to write about, the more I'm too intimidated to even start. I apologize for this absence which was started by wanting to take advantage of my parents who I hadn't seen for 10 months and enjoy my last week in France, and compounded by having too much to write about to even start.

On my last day of school, my class threw a party for me. It was the most touching thing that has ever been done for me, and I still feel incredibly spoiled and unworthy. My last class of the day was French, and my friends decided we should ditch and go lie in the sun in the grass outside. I didn't want to, because I wanted to say goodbye to everyone, but they convinced me to just show up 10 minutes late. When we showed up to French, muttering vague excuses about how sorry we were and how my friend was constipated, everyone ran to the back of the room and started singing to me. They wrote me a song based on this old French tune, Céline by Hugues Aufray. The new chorus is:

Non non non tu ne restes pas là

Non tu ne restes pas là

Tu as, tu as, ta famille là-bas.

Tu ne restes pas là non tu ne restes pas là

Mais nous penserons toujours à toi.

Which translates to:

No no no you aren't staying here,

No you aren't staying here

You have, you have your family over there

You aren't staying here, no, you aren't staying here

But we will always be thinking of you.

I won't even get into the verses because I don't feel like crying.

Then, as if that wasn't enough, they showered me with presents. They had all collaborated (even the teachers!) to get me a necklace, a book of photos of the Vendée, chocolate mogettes, a book of classic French children's jokes, a hat, and finally a white T-shirt that they all signed, with sweet messages wishing me well and saying goodbye. My French teacher even gave me two books of Doisneau's photography, since I had liked his work when we talked about it in class. Then we sat around and drank iced tea and ate baked goods that people had brought, and sung some Rihanna because one of my friends is into Rihanna. At the time I couldn't even express how touched I was by this, but this will remain one of my favorite memories. I had no idea they were going to throw me a party, and I am so lucky to have spent a year with such kind, generous, thoughtful people. They say that the French are hard to get to know, that Americans are much more open and hospitable. But French friends are friends for life, and once you have a relationship, they'll do anything for you.

That same night, my host brother came back from his internship in Germany to celebrate his 20^th birthday and to meet my parents. It was nice to see him, as we thought we wouldn't see each other again before I left. We threw a party for his birthday and my departure. Most of my friends couldn't come, but it was fun anyway.

The next day my parents came. Their train was 3 hours late due to flooding and landslides because France has been having crazy weather – it's still raining in the Vendée and in Germany, I can't go outside because I would probably get heatstroke. But eventually we were reunited. I was sort of expecting some climactic, satisfying feeling that would leave me writing “I can't describe how it feels to see one's parents for the first time in a year, but it made my year complete and wonderful.” But actually we were all just really tired, so we said hello and hugged each other a lot and then brought them home, and it was anticlimactic but nice anyway.

My parents stayed with us for a week. After they got over their jetlag, my mom got along very well with my host family, as she speaks decent French. My dad and my brother, who don't speak any French, were a little lost. Our week was filled with meeting the people who were important to me (extended family, my friends, my frisbee coach and team, etc.) for drinks and snacks, so my parents could meet the people I had talked about so much, as well as touristy outings. On Monday we went to the Puy de Fou, one of the most famous historical theme parks in the world. It was sort of like a cross between Disney and a Renaissance Festival. It wasn't really a problem that my family didn't understand any of the stories behind the shows they put on, because it was just visual eye candy – a falconry show, a viking battle, the three musketeers having a sword duel, a chariot race, etc. I highly recommend it.

On Wednesday we went to l'île d'Yeu, a beautiful island off the coast. We rented bikes and explored the coast.

Thursday was my last frisbee game. It was also the first week of good weather, so we went to the beach and played in the sand. Afterwards, I plunged in the ocean with a friend of mine, and upon coming out we gave everyone sopping wet hugs, despite their complaints. They then presented me with a frisbee, signed with all their names and lots of “bisous”, so I can continue playing with the Jets years after we're separated.

Needless to say, this was pretty special as well. I can't really think of how to describe frisbee except to say that if you've ever been in marching band, or done soccer or dance or theater, you probably know what I'm talking about. Even if the people in the group aren't your best friends, there's a certain sacred bond that makes them very close to your heart.

On Friday we went to Noirmoutier and went on a boat trip to take advantage of the good weather. Finally good weather after about 6 months of cold and rain.

I guess I ought to write about Saturday, the day of my departure, because the point of this blog is that I'm sharing my exchange student experiences. But I don't think I can. It's too personal and too fresh. But I will draw a conclusion from the final painful exchanges I had with my loved ones: Yes, I admit that I spent a lot of my 10 months complaining about things and wanting to go home. Particularly the first half was hard, and even during the second half I was just counting down the months, then weeks, then days until I'd see my parents and my brother and all that homesickness would be over. But in the end it was so hard to leave. It wasn't even “mixed feelings.” Leaving that house and boarding that train was just one of the most awful things I've had to do. It wasn't like leaving home – home is always there, and I knew I'd be coming back. But I don't know when I'll next be able to come back to the Vendée. In 3 years? 5 years? 10? My little cousins might be all grown up and have forgotten me, my frisbee team might not have any of the same members anymore, my class will have graduated and left the area. Essentially, I left for good. Nothing will be the same anymore. And suddenly I realized just how many good things I was leaving behind: how many good memories I have here with good friends. The interesting travel I got to do. All the people I met. All the boundaries and fears I overcame. The changes. The everything. It is pessimistic human nature to spend a year complaining about the bad things only to reminisce about the good times upon leaving. And I can't regret what I lived through, saying I “should've been more optimistic,” because my homesickness and loneliness and all the other bad parts were legitimate. But I guess I didn't give enough credit to the good times. Would've could've should've. The point is, it's worth it. It's painful to come and it's painful to leave, but all that means is that it was worth it, and those who I met and loved and lived with in France will always be in my heart.

Like emotional whiplash, the tears of the train station turned into joy at being reunited with our good old friends upon arrival in Germany. We spent a lovely week in Heidelberg with them. It was nice to do some touristy things (touring a castle and taking a riverboat cruise) but otherwise be with people who speak German and know the city, which made for lovely hikes, shopping, gelato expeditions, and hanging out in their apartment when it got too hot to do anything else. This is my favorite kind of travel: couch-surfing with good friends who know exactly what activities would make us happy.

I have also fallen in love with Heidelberg, which goes on my list of places to live someday. It's beautiful and has all the necessary components of a picturesque European city: a castle, a river, arched bridges, a very urban downtown and yet very green and forested surrounding mountains.

Heidelberg

View of the ruins from up top

And from on bottom

They have almost everything that I've been missing while living in France as a bustling university town with a strong foreign presence and excellent ethnic food. I have eaten delicious Middle Eastern food as well as the classic heavy German staples of bratwurst and schnitzel. You hear a surprising amount of English on the streets, from the soldiers who were here on the US base (that is now closing) or the scientists at the University. Most of the shopkeepers speak English, and speak it quite fluently. I also heard conversations in French, Japanese, and other languages I wouldn't know how to recognize. I would love to live in a place so used to foreigners that I would be commonplace, not a curiosity labelled by my own accent. I also like the fact that I look German. Oftentimes the French have mistaken me for German, and apparently the Germans do as well. I look just like all the other pale, blonde, blue-eyed girls on the street, and people often mistakenly addressed me in German, while our Italian-blooded host Cheryl seldom gets that treatment despite her four years in Heidelberg.

Unfortunately, the hot weather hit that week, and there were two days that were hot enough that we couldn't do anything except stay in the apartment in front of the fan and consume cold drinks. My mother and I melt into useless sludge in anything above 90°F (32°C). But we would go out for gelato as the day began to cool down, and that was enough activity for us.

The weather broke just as we left, and we got on a bus to Frankfurt-Hahn as it was raining. Flying with Ryanair, which is a cheap European airline, is very odd because they only use obscure airports that no one else uses, which means taking a 2 hour bus before even getting to the airport. Other than that we had good luck with Ryanair. It is notorious for charging you extra for everything (your carry-on is 5 cm too fat, so we'll charge you more than your plane ticket cost to put it in checked luggage!) and so it's a little like playing the lottery – you might win or you might lose, going with such an airline. But we won, and ended up safely in Venice. More later.

Just Human

In the last week of school, you could think we were in the US : the French decorum disappears, as does their strict unspoken dress code and their reservedness. It's theme week, everyone's sick of school, and the light at the end of the tunnel fills us with a euphoric laughter, edged with relieved insanity. Yesterday was Old School day ; they dressed in suspenders and plaid or outfits from the '80s from their parents' closets.

My favorite Frenchie, all decked out.

Today was neon day. Americans wear a lot more color than the French, but today you wouldn't have known it. At lunch practically the whole school made its way out to the empty field next to the campus where we watched the seniors play a game called Beret, where they all tackle each other to get a shoe and try to bring it back to their team's goal, like a crude, more entertaining version of American football. Sitting on the grass in a crowd of neon color and laughter and games, I felt like I was back home – except that no one from the school administration came to yell at us, which definitely would've happened at Homestead. Only the language of the babble and the laughter swirling around me and the little clouds of cigarette smoke liberally scattering the field gave away that I wasn't in California, and this winter hadn't all been a dream.

People ask me if the French and Americans really are different or not. The answer is yes and no. Yes, because we view a lot of things very differently. Just off the top of my head, Americans are warmer and more hospitable, more politically correct, more stoic and individualist. The French are more blunt and honest, more relaxed and accepting of Not Being Perfect, like getting bad grades and being young and stupid, smoking and drinking and all that jazz. Those are cultural differences that work their way into your brain just because humans imitate those around them. In French I have become much more like the French – I'll tell jokes that would not be funny at all in English because they're too racist, I'll be meanly honest when in English I'd have trouble even dancing around the subject, I'll be more assertive even though I'm a foreigner. Because like it or not, we become like those around us.

But in the end, we're all just people, and that's an inescapable fact. Seeing kids rough-housing barefoot on the grass in summer is enough to make those differences disappear. I can picture doing the exact same thing back home, just like that game of Fugitive we organized at home with half the high school participating. This summer I'd like to organize a game of Beret in Serra Park, because it looked like a lot of fun.

So yes, we're different. Yes, I'm nervous to meet my family and my friends for a second time, because I am a different person now, contaminated by these foreign ways of thinking. I am some amalgam of all the people and all the philosophies I've encountered – not entirely French and not entirely American. Yes, it's different. But at the end of the year, bored teenagers sick of school basking in the sun, we're all just human.