So, I never did blog about Italy and how amazing it was and how I fell in love with the sights, smells and sounds of it. But I did.
In this never ending winter *cue Kanye* I'm brought back to the colours of the buildings in Verona, of Bologna's reddish tint, of Firenze's beauty despite the tempest and even of Milano's gloomy charm.
I think I'm unhappy because I don't know what's next and that bothers me. I'm a Type B chick for the most part of my life, but let me feel helpless or unsure and I turn Type A in a New York minute,wanting to make lists and plans and stress.
I started thinking about things that would make me happy. I started with applying for jobs. This makes me an actor in my life and not an audience member, and I have to have that. If I'm honest, and I have no reason not to be, I'm afraid that I am inadequate. That my degree,while enjoyable and edifying, will be of little practical use. The only way for me to combat this fear is to apply for anything and everything that might be in line with what I know how to do-write and think. Haha. I'm also fearful of disappointing my parents. Here they sent me to University, have supported me in this crazy love affair with France and now what? I'm 23 years old and about to move back home for the summer. There's so shame in that,but I need and want more. I know whatever I end up doing my parents will say their proud of me, but I want to do something awesome so that I know they'll be proud.At the same time, I haven't a clue where I want to be. Location is my biggest problem.I envy these guys I know who are working on a farm in the middle of Sicily. I envy my friend ,Chris,who is preparing to go back to China because he's afraid of being stuck in London forever.
If I was as brave and ballsy as these guys, you know what I would do?
I would move to Israel for awhile and see what I can get in to. Be that working on a kibbutz, teaching or whatever.
I'm afraid though that if I keep being light and untethered that I will lose out on the beautiful possibilities that can come from stability, dedication and commitment. I vacillate between feeling too young to seriously worry about all this, to realising that I'm getting older and eventually my parents calling me Carmen SanDiego may not be a compliment.
10 March 2010
02 March 2010
ID Control
So it finally happened.
My police incident. I always joked about it happening,but when it finally did it was the opposite of funny. I've seen minorities in France get stopped before on the street and asked for papers. Mostly Roma(gypsies)Arabs and Black people. I've always wondered if they did something wrong or what,but never thought much about it. With people's preconceived notions of my nationality(insert random nation:Eritrea, Somalia,whatever)I knew it was a possibility,but didn't think it would annoy me so much.
I had time to kill between my train leaving La Roch sur Yon and Bordeaux and hour and some change so I decided to get a bite to eat. I did and then moseyed along to the train station with time to spare to get a cappuccino from the machine.
As I was about to turn the corner to get to the station I see a police car. Nothing unusual there, but then I got the sense that it was going to stop. Instantly I thought, there's no reason for them to stop and talk to me.
But stop to talk to me they did.
They walked toward me and said "Hello,miss can we see your papers?" (en Francais of course)They said more stuff in French that I forgot as I was shocked the situation was happening. Never in my 23 years in the States have I had an encounter with the police other than them visiting my school when I was little. In France,up until this time ,I've been content to notice the cute ones. I knew they wanted to see papers to verify that I had a right to be in France,but it was incredibly demeaning. One of them asked to go through my little green bag and the other proceeded to ask me what I was doing in La Roch sur Yon(as if anyone would purposefully, of their own volition just post up there) Fortunately, I had my passport and tried to explain (suppressing tears) that I was just going to catch my train and that I had a pause and decided to eat something. He then asked me why I was going to Bordeaux (as if it was any of his bloody business) and I said I was going to see friends. They then asked me why I was in France etc.etc. where I lived all of the questions that made it seem as if I had done something wrong. It was humiliating to have to explain myself to them in the middle of a sidewalk, while people passed and probably though "There goes another..." Initially they didn't understand what I meant by "pause"even though I've heard French people use it, I showed them my ticket pointing to the length of time in between and they finally understood. Finally one of them, asked what my nationality was and I started to whimper, "Je suis Americaine, ca c'est ma passporte/I'm American, that's my passport" That the other officer was holding.After the passport holding officer was off his walkie-talkie speaking to their headquarters he handed it back to me.
"Are you okay?" he said painstakingly in English.
"Did I do something wrong?," I asked through tears and heavy breathing.
"Non," they replied quickly.
I instantly think, "Then why the [hell] would you stop me?"
I asked if I could leave and they said yes, but not before telling me that it was okay and "c'est pas grave"/it's not serious, don't cry...
But it was serious and I did cry.
It seriously annoyed me and embarrassed me.(Not that I have a right to not be annoyed)It was insulting to have to justify why I was in France let alone their city. I know it's a prejudice on my part, but I'm not from a developing country come to France to steal jobs or whatever. I just happened to have melanin and be walking.
I called my dad sobbing, perhaps unnecessarily, and explained the situation to him. He was hurt because it's something he wished his children wouldn't have to go through.(When he was younger, in Texas, in the 70s he was stopped on a 10 speed bike and accused of theft)It's not better,but it's expected in The States,especially the South. It's a sad part of the narrative of our country,but one that is being changed.
France, au contraire, is the land of liberte, egalite, and fraternite.
But I wonder how many blanc Francais are bothered by id controls? I sent a text to one of my friends and was annoyed at her response that it wasn't serious. That it happens all the time and had happened to her before. I'm sure it happens to white French people, but I'm certain it happens more to ethnic minorities. I really can't adequately convey my frustration, annoyance or hurt over this situation.
I can better understand the problem France is having with it's young immigrant and minority populations. If you build a state where certain segments of the population are more likely to have negative experiences with the law, don't be surprised when you combine that with low employment and covert discrimination to find cars burned and frustration abounding.
They say a Republican is a Democrat who has just been robbed, perhaps an anarchist is an innocent person who was stopped on the street, but not in my case. I still think the police play a valuable part (obviously) in maintaining law and order. I would just posit,that stopping people with out probable cause could be something they give up for Lent. Or forever.
Link to an article about this topic:
http://www.soros.org/initiatives/justice/focus/equality_citizenship/articles_publications/publications/search_20090630
My police incident. I always joked about it happening,but when it finally did it was the opposite of funny. I've seen minorities in France get stopped before on the street and asked for papers. Mostly Roma(gypsies)Arabs and Black people. I've always wondered if they did something wrong or what,but never thought much about it. With people's preconceived notions of my nationality(insert random nation:Eritrea, Somalia,whatever)I knew it was a possibility,but didn't think it would annoy me so much.
I had time to kill between my train leaving La Roch sur Yon and Bordeaux and hour and some change so I decided to get a bite to eat. I did and then moseyed along to the train station with time to spare to get a cappuccino from the machine.
As I was about to turn the corner to get to the station I see a police car. Nothing unusual there, but then I got the sense that it was going to stop. Instantly I thought, there's no reason for them to stop and talk to me.
But stop to talk to me they did.
They walked toward me and said "Hello,miss can we see your papers?" (en Francais of course)They said more stuff in French that I forgot as I was shocked the situation was happening. Never in my 23 years in the States have I had an encounter with the police other than them visiting my school when I was little. In France,up until this time ,I've been content to notice the cute ones. I knew they wanted to see papers to verify that I had a right to be in France,but it was incredibly demeaning. One of them asked to go through my little green bag and the other proceeded to ask me what I was doing in La Roch sur Yon(as if anyone would purposefully, of their own volition just post up there) Fortunately, I had my passport and tried to explain (suppressing tears) that I was just going to catch my train and that I had a pause and decided to eat something. He then asked me why I was going to Bordeaux (as if it was any of his bloody business) and I said I was going to see friends. They then asked me why I was in France etc.etc. where I lived all of the questions that made it seem as if I had done something wrong. It was humiliating to have to explain myself to them in the middle of a sidewalk, while people passed and probably though "There goes another..." Initially they didn't understand what I meant by "pause"even though I've heard French people use it, I showed them my ticket pointing to the length of time in between and they finally understood. Finally one of them, asked what my nationality was and I started to whimper, "Je suis Americaine, ca c'est ma passporte/I'm American, that's my passport" That the other officer was holding.After the passport holding officer was off his walkie-talkie speaking to their headquarters he handed it back to me.
"Are you okay?" he said painstakingly in English.
"Did I do something wrong?," I asked through tears and heavy breathing.
"Non," they replied quickly.
I instantly think, "Then why the [hell] would you stop me?"
I asked if I could leave and they said yes, but not before telling me that it was okay and "c'est pas grave"/it's not serious, don't cry...
But it was serious and I did cry.
It seriously annoyed me and embarrassed me.(Not that I have a right to not be annoyed)It was insulting to have to justify why I was in France let alone their city. I know it's a prejudice on my part, but I'm not from a developing country come to France to steal jobs or whatever. I just happened to have melanin and be walking.
I called my dad sobbing, perhaps unnecessarily, and explained the situation to him. He was hurt because it's something he wished his children wouldn't have to go through.(When he was younger, in Texas, in the 70s he was stopped on a 10 speed bike and accused of theft)It's not better,but it's expected in The States,especially the South. It's a sad part of the narrative of our country,but one that is being changed.
France, au contraire, is the land of liberte, egalite, and fraternite.
But I wonder how many blanc Francais are bothered by id controls? I sent a text to one of my friends and was annoyed at her response that it wasn't serious. That it happens all the time and had happened to her before. I'm sure it happens to white French people, but I'm certain it happens more to ethnic minorities. I really can't adequately convey my frustration, annoyance or hurt over this situation.
I can better understand the problem France is having with it's young immigrant and minority populations. If you build a state where certain segments of the population are more likely to have negative experiences with the law, don't be surprised when you combine that with low employment and covert discrimination to find cars burned and frustration abounding.
They say a Republican is a Democrat who has just been robbed, perhaps an anarchist is an innocent person who was stopped on the street, but not in my case. I still think the police play a valuable part (obviously) in maintaining law and order. I would just posit,that stopping people with out probable cause could be something they give up for Lent. Or forever.
Link to an article about this topic:
http://www.soros.org/initiatives/justice/focus/equality_citizenship/articles_publications/publications/search_20090630
24 February 2010
I'm going back home...
I'm going back to Bordeaux tomorrow.
It's not that big of a deal in reality, but in my mind it is important. You see, the last opportunity I had to go down there I declined because I felt that it might hurt after breaking up with Julien. I don't regret the decision,because I truly did not want to go. As I thought about the times I went to Bordeaux over the past several months when I could have gone elsewhere (actually just during Touissant) I'm not ashamed or regretful, but I am endeavouring to make up for it. So I feel kind of silly going back to a place I've been several times, however, I'm on vacation and can do whatever the eph I want (including catch up on an entire season of Glee-judge if you will) or nothing. I am free.
It will be (probably)insignificant in a couple of days, months, years, whatever, but for me,right now,it's important.
I fell in love with the city before him and and I can still love it. I have to learn to separate feelings for experiences (songs, places, names even) from feelings from people.
Bordeaux is like my home. I have other friends there besides him.
And in the words of Bon Jovi "who says you can't go home?"
P.S. I went to Italy and had a phenomenal time, will blog about that later. Have Glee to finish.
It's not that big of a deal in reality, but in my mind it is important. You see, the last opportunity I had to go down there I declined because I felt that it might hurt after breaking up with Julien. I don't regret the decision,because I truly did not want to go. As I thought about the times I went to Bordeaux over the past several months when I could have gone elsewhere (actually just during Touissant) I'm not ashamed or regretful, but I am endeavouring to make up for it. So I feel kind of silly going back to a place I've been several times, however, I'm on vacation and can do whatever the eph I want (including catch up on an entire season of Glee-judge if you will) or nothing. I am free.
It will be (probably)insignificant in a couple of days, months, years, whatever, but for me,right now,it's important.
I fell in love with the city before him and and I can still love it. I have to learn to separate feelings for experiences (songs, places, names even) from feelings from people.
Bordeaux is like my home. I have other friends there besides him.
And in the words of Bon Jovi "who says you can't go home?"
P.S. I went to Italy and had a phenomenal time, will blog about that later. Have Glee to finish.
31 January 2010
Repose en Paix Damian
I logged onto Facebook. The usual.
I saw that my friend Damian's birthday was today and smiled.
Damian is a character. He's tall, beautiful light eyes, brown hair with a smile that makes you comfortable immediately and jokes that will make you uncomfortable instantly. I clicked on his name and started to write something on his wall. I wrote something to the effect of Happy Birthday lover. Damian was a bit of a maverick Mormon. I met him at a conference where he came with a majority Mormon constituency, but he was different and I liked him. We joked about getting married a lot.
He was honest and warm and he shared a little of his past, but in a joking way. I saw sadness,but also thought I saw a guy getting through the hardness that is life and making something beautiful anyway. One of the first things I remember about him was finding out that his mother had recently passed away, in 2007.
So,
I posted on his wall, but then my eyes saw the post below mine.
Damian is dead.
He died on January 16,2010.
I just found out.
I erased my post and stared at my screen for a few minutes.
I felt sorry. Sorry that I didn't know sooner. Sorry that I hadn't said hey to him in awhile. Sorry that he was gone and that his story had ended. It could be reread,but not continued. Our friendship story had ended to. A narrative to be reread, but not revised.I feel inexplicably guilty. For being away from the country. I could have called him or something. We weren't best friends forever, but we kept in touch since our meeting in Summer of 2008.
It strikes me. He was so young and living in NY. But he had a lot pain and sadness too. I don't know all that he was going through.
And it's not necessary now. But I miss him. I miss the thought that I didn't know him as well as I wanted to. I hate that there were people who judged him and I hate that he's gone. He would have been 25.
Death is hard. But I guess sometimes living is harder for some people. I pray that he is at peace now.
www.damianmacneill.com
I saw that my friend Damian's birthday was today and smiled.
Damian is a character. He's tall, beautiful light eyes, brown hair with a smile that makes you comfortable immediately and jokes that will make you uncomfortable instantly. I clicked on his name and started to write something on his wall. I wrote something to the effect of Happy Birthday lover. Damian was a bit of a maverick Mormon. I met him at a conference where he came with a majority Mormon constituency, but he was different and I liked him. We joked about getting married a lot.
He was honest and warm and he shared a little of his past, but in a joking way. I saw sadness,but also thought I saw a guy getting through the hardness that is life and making something beautiful anyway. One of the first things I remember about him was finding out that his mother had recently passed away, in 2007.
So,
I posted on his wall, but then my eyes saw the post below mine.
Damian is dead.
He died on January 16,2010.
I just found out.
I erased my post and stared at my screen for a few minutes.
I felt sorry. Sorry that I didn't know sooner. Sorry that I hadn't said hey to him in awhile. Sorry that he was gone and that his story had ended. It could be reread,but not continued. Our friendship story had ended to. A narrative to be reread, but not revised.I feel inexplicably guilty. For being away from the country. I could have called him or something. We weren't best friends forever, but we kept in touch since our meeting in Summer of 2008.
It strikes me. He was so young and living in NY. But he had a lot pain and sadness too. I don't know all that he was going through.
And it's not necessary now. But I miss him. I miss the thought that I didn't know him as well as I wanted to. I hate that there were people who judged him and I hate that he's gone. He would have been 25.
Death is hard. But I guess sometimes living is harder for some people. I pray that he is at peace now.
www.damianmacneill.com
28 January 2010
Birthday continued
So, I had a pleasant (pseudo surprise) at the lycee.
I saw, by accident, a message to the professors asking them to sign a card for me. But as clearly he didn't think that I would be on the e-mail list, I ignored it and knew I would act as gracious and surprised as ever with the card I was to receive.
However, when I went to my class, Professor A says my name wrong and says to come see him. Instead of just a card is a card with signatures and petits messages from teachers and students as well as a box of fine chocolats and like 5 books en Francais.
I LOVE BOOKS!
I LOVE CHOCOLATE!
I LOVE CARDS!
and most importantly, I, like most, love kindness. It was just awfully sweet of them and was unexpected...except for the card ;)
So now I have more books to read(after I get through Le Soleil se Leve Aussi-Hemingway not as awesome in French.)
I really do feel blessed that people cared enough to wish me Happy Birthday.
I wanna pull a Sally Fields "You love me, you really love me"
Haha.
*I need a nap after waking up two hours too early at 7h30 and watching the SOTU, the Republican rebuttal and commentary from the Newshour(with Jim Lehrer)*
I saw, by accident, a message to the professors asking them to sign a card for me. But as clearly he didn't think that I would be on the e-mail list, I ignored it and knew I would act as gracious and surprised as ever with the card I was to receive.
However, when I went to my class, Professor A says my name wrong and says to come see him. Instead of just a card is a card with signatures and petits messages from teachers and students as well as a box of fine chocolats and like 5 books en Francais.
I LOVE BOOKS!
I LOVE CHOCOLATE!
I LOVE CARDS!
and most importantly, I, like most, love kindness. It was just awfully sweet of them and was unexpected...except for the card ;)
So now I have more books to read(after I get through Le Soleil se Leve Aussi-Hemingway not as awesome in French.)
I really do feel blessed that people cared enough to wish me Happy Birthday.
I wanna pull a Sally Fields "You love me, you really love me"
Haha.
*I need a nap after waking up two hours too early at 7h30 and watching the SOTU, the Republican rebuttal and commentary from the Newshour(with Jim Lehrer)*
27 January 2010
23...or "we've only just begun to live..."
SO I turned 23 today.
And I feel pretty regular.
My birthday, as anyone who knows me well knows, is tied for my favourite holiday with Christmas. I've spent a birthday away from close friends before in Bordeaux with girls who ended up becoming like sisters and this year I spent it in Les Sables d'Olonne. I wanted to watch La Princesse et La Grenouille with other assistants in Nantes. But guess what movie didn't premiere in France's 6th largest city today?
Nantes, you say?
Haha, yes.
Oh well. So my responsable woke me up at 10h30 and I had to be honest when she asked if she woke me up. (I'm trying to be more genuine in my life and that includes not telling lies even though their polite) She then proceded to apologise and I explained that it was a good thing b/c I needed to be up. I did. She then told me that at 13h she was going to come take me out to lunch for my birthday. So I met her at 13h and we went to a lovely restaurant by the beach with her husband. She gave me some jewelry which was really sweet of her on top of the delicious lunch. Another teacher from the college gave me a pretty candle holder decoration thing and a lovely card.
My flatmate bought me a strawberry tarte and I got to say by to my friend Max before he leaves for Brasil. I felt pretty thankful for all the well wishes on Facebook from friends around the world. All in all, a very pleasant beginning to my 23rd birthday on this beautiful earth. Low key,but pleasant. I'm hoping this weekend's celebration will be wild, outlandish and bordering on insane though :) (Hopefully I'll get to see the mec that I met from last weekend, oh la la)
23 as a number scares me. As Nathalie , ma responsable, pointed out it definitely feels closer to 25 than 2o. I feel like I should have a a plan for my future or at least part of it,but I don't.
And I feel pretty regular.
My birthday, as anyone who knows me well knows, is tied for my favourite holiday with Christmas. I've spent a birthday away from close friends before in Bordeaux with girls who ended up becoming like sisters and this year I spent it in Les Sables d'Olonne. I wanted to watch La Princesse et La Grenouille with other assistants in Nantes. But guess what movie didn't premiere in France's 6th largest city today?
Nantes, you say?
Haha, yes.
Oh well. So my responsable woke me up at 10h30 and I had to be honest when she asked if she woke me up. (I'm trying to be more genuine in my life and that includes not telling lies even though their polite) She then proceded to apologise and I explained that it was a good thing b/c I needed to be up. I did. She then told me that at 13h she was going to come take me out to lunch for my birthday. So I met her at 13h and we went to a lovely restaurant by the beach with her husband. She gave me some jewelry which was really sweet of her on top of the delicious lunch. Another teacher from the college gave me a pretty candle holder decoration thing and a lovely card.
My flatmate bought me a strawberry tarte and I got to say by to my friend Max before he leaves for Brasil. I felt pretty thankful for all the well wishes on Facebook from friends around the world. All in all, a very pleasant beginning to my 23rd birthday on this beautiful earth. Low key,but pleasant. I'm hoping this weekend's celebration will be wild, outlandish and bordering on insane though :) (Hopefully I'll get to see the mec that I met from last weekend, oh la la)
23 as a number scares me. As Nathalie , ma responsable, pointed out it definitely feels closer to 25 than 2o. I feel like I should have a a plan for my future or at least part of it,but I don't.
19 January 2010
Tu vs. Vous
So, I dipped by the lycee to give them the dates for the English Club and once again heard a heated discussion about some insolent punk(haha Burger King commercial anyone?) using the "tu" form and not"vous". Tu is supposed to be with people who are your peers, cohorts, contemporaries etc. Vous is reserved for those at a higher level either economically or authoritatively (bosses, principals, elderly people, etc.) It rubs me the wrong way.
Heres my problem.
I'm all about R-E-S-P-E-C-T and giving it and meriting it. I couldn't care l Theess whether they address me as "tu", "vous" or "K Bizzle" (that would make me really happy) as long as they were respectful which they are to me, perhaps a little too respectful. I know in English we have the words Mr./Mrs./Ma'am/Sir etc. but it's not the same in my mind. Some might disagree I'm sure.
Tu and Vous both mean "you". It's the republican(small "r" not the political party, the belief system) in me that says we're all humans in a democracy, no one is better or worse than me, I don't have to doff my top hat *I don't wear a top hat* to anyone and the reverse is true as well. Some of the teachers can be rude and a tad condescending to the students,but then want to nuck if one of them bucks for being rude in return... Being from the South and such I've called older people Mr. and Mrs. into my twenties out of respect and decorum, but it's because they're old and in general I respect them. The same level of respect is thus presupposed. The same in most civic relations:schools in this case.In French you're supposed to use "vous" with people you don't know, respect etc. Instead of a more egalitarian "tu" which shows we're all in this together (cue High School Musical)
I don't know why it bothers me. But it's another really telling linguistic and cultural difference...the words a culture uses belies mentality for better or worse. And I think this new decade will continue to show the ways in some French practises are no longer relevant...on verra
Heres my problem.
I'm all about R-E-S-P-E-C-T and giving it and meriting it. I couldn't care l Theess whether they address me as "tu", "vous" or "K Bizzle" (that would make me really happy) as long as they were respectful which they are to me, perhaps a little too respectful. I know in English we have the words Mr./Mrs./Ma'am/Sir etc. but it's not the same in my mind. Some might disagree I'm sure.
Tu and Vous both mean "you". It's the republican(small "r" not the political party, the belief system) in me that says we're all humans in a democracy, no one is better or worse than me, I don't have to doff my top hat *I don't wear a top hat* to anyone and the reverse is true as well. Some of the teachers can be rude and a tad condescending to the students,but then want to nuck if one of them bucks for being rude in return... Being from the South and such I've called older people Mr. and Mrs. into my twenties out of respect and decorum, but it's because they're old and in general I respect them. The same level of respect is thus presupposed. The same in most civic relations:schools in this case.In French you're supposed to use "vous" with people you don't know, respect etc. Instead of a more egalitarian "tu" which shows we're all in this together (cue High School Musical)
I don't know why it bothers me. But it's another really telling linguistic and cultural difference...the words a culture uses belies mentality for better or worse. And I think this new decade will continue to show the ways in some French practises are no longer relevant...on verra
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