I’ve always found the idea of New Year’s resolution kind of idiotic. Time is just this idea made up by man, and if we truly want to change, why wait for the 1st of January instead of starting right away? Continue reading “New Year, New Blog, “New Me”: Welcome”
If you ask anyone that knew me when I was a child, they would probably first tell you about my bubbly personality and then lead into how I always wanted to be an adult. I did not play with toys but played with my imagination, and if I was not playing the part of a princess or a dinosaur (because I went through a stage like that), I would play adult parts. I would play the mom, sometimes the dad, I would want to act out being a waitress, or work in a store. I just thought that growing up would be fun. Then lead into my teenage years where ALL I dreamed about was the freedom. Freedom from school, freedom from my parents telling me what to do, and the freedom to finally start chasing my dreams. Continue reading “Adulting Abroad”
I grew up with a mother who had an accent. I remember a time when we were in the pool and she was speaking to me in Spanish (because our relationship is in Spanish) and someone told her to speak in English because she was in America. I remember at times having to translate her English so people could understand what she was trying to say. I never understood her frustration at times, because I understood my mother. I loved her accent. I wanted it at times because I thought it was the best sound in the world, coming home with friends who had never met her and surprised at my Spanish background (because I obviously don’t “look” like someone who speaks Spanish). It was something that made my mother unique (out of obviously the other countless things that do).
Then I moved abroad, and one day I got the accent. I can’t deny that these past two years I have been lucky to meet people that absolutely love the accent and are welcoming to their country. I got a reality check when I started school. I have met my fair share of people, who I am very lucky and fond of (they make sure I am following the classes and understand well, telling me if I ever need help they are a phone call away). I have also met people that roll their eyes and probably wonder how I ever got into the university.
Continue reading “You Don’t Know How Smart I Am”
If we were having coffee I would probably make an iced mocha, since the heat can be somewhat unbearable here in France. I would ask what you would like, make your drink and sit down (probably with an assortment of cookies because that’s what my mom taught me to do while having coffee with people. It is a social event). Continue reading “If We Were Having Coffee (La rentrée est là)”
I think there is a moment when living abroad that you begin to forget the distance between you and what used to be your old home. The old life is continuing without you, you are living life without it, and there comes a moment when you realize those two things are no longer connected. The only glue is the people you care about.
It starts with the little things, like the style of speaking, the style of clothing and those changes become bigger and bigger. One day you’re sitting in your apartment with a French acceptance letter into university, French books spilling from the walls, and you realize this is now your life. You are speaking a language that used to just be beautiful mumblings, you are making a life for you.
It hit me today while I was watching a soccer match with French people as they were yelling and cheering about their team scoring, and it reminded me of football season in America. But this was different. When I screw something up, or do something out of the cultural ordinary, I tend to say “well in America…” but then I wonder if it really is like that in America. Or is it me?
This is a rambling post, but it was an interesting feeling today. I felt far from my culture, the land that raised me, the people that made me, but I know that I will never be able to shake that off of me. It is who I am. I will never lose it. Though it feels far today, I can’t deny the feeling that everything that I am working for at the moment feels like what I need to be doing. I am proud of that.
If you are an expat, have you ever had a day like this?
Sometimes the city is confusing. It rushes by, moving quickly, making our heads spin. We get confused, about what we want, what we are doing. We get anxiety, about what is going on in our own lives. But the city is always moving, testing us, making us work to survive. It’s made me stronger, healthier and prouder. I am me, and thanks to this city.
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It’s not that the words go over my head, it’s that sometimes the general slides right by. I bury myself into dissecting the phrase that sometimes, when I understand it, it takes me moments to realize it was all a joke.
He’s always smiling as he waits for me to get it, but sometimes the humor is different. Sometimes what he says isn’t funny, or maybe I don’t find it funny, or maybe he doesn’t find me funny at times. Jokes and kidding… I’ve realized it can sometimes be the base of cultures.
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