Wherever You Go, There You Are

Thursday, March 28, 2013

Rotary Presentation

This is my blog entry for today. Watch it ^^

Friday, February 22, 2013

I'm going off the radar for awhile, friends. I have four weeks of fantastic experiences ahead and I don't know if I will have time to recount them in the midst of them. Saturday, I am going to the ALPS!!!!!!!! for, what will probably be, the best week of skiing in my life. Than, the day after I get back, MY MOM IS COMING!!!!!!!! and I will be busy introducing her to everyone as well as saying my doubtful good-byes to everyone I have met. I'm not looking forward to that part, but it needs to be done. Than on March 9th, I am having a gigantic GOOD-BYE PARTY!!!!!!!!. This will include all of my host families, Grace and all of her host families, my two after school French teachers and their wives, my Rotary counselor and his wife, five of my closest Rotary Exchange Student friends, about eight family friends, about five or six school friends and MY MOM. It's going to be fantastic, amiright ? Then, I will be going to PARIS!!!!!!!! for a week with MY MOM and where ever else we decide to go. Than I WILL BE GOING HOME!!?!?!!?!!!? Not sure how I feel about that one and this is getting obnoxious. So anyways, we can be sure that after these next three-ish to four weeks, I will have a pleathora (just wanted to use that word) of things to write about

Et c'est pour vous, qui avez aide moi avec tout les chose. Quand je suis venu en France, j'ai eu trop peur et j'étais très jeune. Et maintenant, je suis encore jeune et encore un petit peu peur mais c'est pour des raisons différentes. J'ai peur de RETOURNER aux États-Unis, maintenant, je ne suis plus peur de la France parce que France est belle dans tous les sens et vous êtes belle, aussi. Je vous remercie de m'avoir aidé à changer ma vie. Votre patience et gentillesse est immense.

Friday, February 15, 2013

Dear Readers,
It is with great dignity that I inform you of my bump in the road. It started as a mountain that I couldn't see over, turned into a molehill, and is now just a tiny bump that I can see myself getting over quickly but as my faithful blog readers, I have decided to share the truth with you all, something I have withheld before.
Really, I have not been lying but, perhaps, presenting myself in a way that gave the impression I had everything together and was sailing through France as if my exchange was a bowl of rainbows and Nutella. While all the wonderful, amazing things I write about have happened and are happening and will keep happening and are every bit as amazing as I have made them out to be those of you who look closely will notice significant gaps in the silver lining and that is because I have been omitting a rather large piece of my experience: the struggles. And who lives a life without struggles, anyways? And if you do, feel free to send me a message and we can talk but otherwise, I'm confident in saying everyone bares their conflicts and bends with the pressure. So the only real debate here is why I was so set on pretending I soared through every day untouched; a fairy tale fantasy with no dilemmas. It must have been tedious to read, am I right? Well I certainly apologize and will make it strait now: I have had, am having, will have struggles that shook/shaking/will shake me like title waves and I am taking this blog entry to speak of them because an exchange with no moments that bring you to your knees is no exchange at all, okay? So here is what some people know and some people don't: I am going home March 20th. It doesn't matter why because it was a mixed decision of mine and my host family and my Rotary club and while I didn't decide to come home, I can't say I'm getting sent home either. It doesn't matter and "home" isn't the right word to use either because "home" doesn't exist for me anymore, anywhere. And so I'm going home two months early. But I won't think of it like that. Instead, I will say, "Wow, Maya. You stayed in France for seven months. You didn't know a single person and you didn't speak a single word and you'd never been away from home before and at the airport, you called your mommy and begged her buy a ticket for you to come back NOW and you still stayed seven months and you learned the language and you tried incredibly hard and you're amazing."
So that's 'tooting my own horn' or bragging or being stuck up or whatever you want to call it and I don't care. Because I am extremely proud of myself and no one will take that away from me. I'm a different person; I've said it before and I will say it again. I can now sew up a hole in my jeans, hand wash underwear, make dinner, take a train by myself to a place I've never been and than catch the bus, read a map, keep myself entertained in a four hour study session, cuss in two different languages, fall asleep on the floor... or anywhere, use a credit card, lift weights, run two miles without stopping, cut hair, distinguish between 'good' wine and 'bad' wine, go a week without wearing makeup, use a mac computer... And those are just the minuscule things. Some of the biggest things I prefer not to share on my blog but I hope you will be able to spot the differences when you see me, I really do. And this isn't my last blog entry because I'm not going home yet and even when I do get home, I'll still keep writing. Because if exchange has taught me anything, it's that your journey doesn't start when you get on a plane, it starts when you start seeing people as people and not as 'That Fat Person' 'That Asian' 'That Guy Who Talks Too Loud'. It starts when someone tells you something and you can't tell if it was in English or French because the two are both engraved so well into your brain and when someone asks you where you're from, you have no clue what to tell them so you just stare at them like a dying fish and wait for them to turn around and walk away. My exchange has been pivotal and emotional and it has been the hardest, most challenging, most amazing thing I have ever done and I am so grateful I didn't stay "home" where it is safe and quiet and you don't get hurt and you don't grow. And I'm leaving now. I'm going "home", except it isn't home because that doesn't exist anymore.
Love Always,
Maya

Stuff
I want to share with you my most amazing experience in France to date. It happened only yesterday when I officially told my best friend, Grace, that I was going back to the US two months early. Remember that wonderful English class I told you about where the amazing teacher helps me and Grace with our French? Well, we were in that class and the teacher told us she wouldn't be here next week so no class (no substitutes in France) and that is when I realized it would be my last ever English class. I couldn't believe it. The best class I had ever been in that taught me so much about French, life, and myself was over. The bell rang to dismiss us but no one had gotten up yet so I raised my hand and told everyone it was my last class. Only Grace had known I was going home so soon and everyone looked shocked and like they had been punched in the stomach, etc. The teacher said, 'Why didn't you tell us earlier?!' and I was trying to say because I hadn't known this was the last class but all that came out were tears that flowed uncontrollably and didn't stop so I had to put my head down on the table because crying in front of a class of 30 people isn't really my forte. And people don't really cry in front of each other here anyways. Everyone came and stood around me and when I finally gathered the strength to look up, I saw that Grace was crying too. And my wonderful teacher had tears in her eyes. What an international sight we were to behold. People started giving me their phone numbers and emails and some left to go to class but many stayed and demanded the ever omniscient why. Why was I leaving them so soon, why couldn't this be stopped, why didn't I just stay? I was at a loss for words in English and in French so I just told them what a joy it was to learn French with them while they learned English and I told them they spoke very well and I was so happy to have them in my life. They told me my French had flourished. Than two girls hugged me which almost brought on more tears because the French never do something like hug. I don't know how to explain it. Maybe you had to be there. How do I make you feel the majesticness of being in my shoes just then? I had started that class not able to ask someone how they were and I finished my time by writing essays on novels and films. And yet, I still could not find the words, in French or in English to explain this to you or to them, how much everything means to me. I'm just really happy and sad at the same time and I'm still trying to figure out how this could be. And the sadness is a hopeful kind of sadness, you know?

This one's for you

Tuesday, February 5, 2013

NEW YEARS OMG

New Years was so awesome. In retrospect to my last New Years Eve Party of watching movies and eating popcorn with my mom, it wouldn't have been difficult to top that but I actually did have an epic New Years with no comparisons needed. So my host mom (I am with my 2nd family at this point, more about them later) told me I could invite two friends to come over on the 31st since we were having a huge party. Well, what better people to invite than exchange students?

I invited my friend, Aarohi, from India and my friend, Amanda, a fellow USAer, (who keeps a much more organized and well updated blog which you should read - http://le-beret-rouge.blogspot.fr/). We had a great timebefore the party. We walked to a bar and ordered Nutella hot chocolate (we bad), we played the ukelele and sang our hearts out (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kPklDMAlZSQ). I gave Aarohi and Amanda gigantic makeovers that left them looking even more stunning than before, which i didn't know was possible! We talked about how fat we were getting while we ate English Muffins smothered in Nutella, butter, and coated with sugar and than we went downstairs and took a million beautiful, composed pictures because that's what teenage girls do, and if you think your teenage daughter takes a lot of photos, you've obviously never seen exchange students get around a camera.

I accidentally mistook a confetti ball for candy and tried to eat it; I also chewed through a glowstick and ended up with bright green, glowing saliva. Nice! There was at least 40 kids and adults and we were dancing our ~~asses~~ behinds off (good thing because confetti and glowstick goes strait to the butt, I've heard) and one of the most memorable moments was when my little sister asked me to teach them all a cheer from when I used to be a cheerleader. (everyone laughs when I tell them that). So I taught them all the simplest cheer they could remember and I sang the words for them and we jumped up and down, all 40 of us, shaking our invisible pompoms and high kicking, doing the cheer over and over and over again. It was such an experience. You had to be there, though. My French was at its peak and I conversed with everyone more easily than I had in my life.I set a timer and at 10 seconds to 12, I started a count down, my first ever in French!, and everyone joined me.

My friends and I didn't have any boys to French kiss (get it!?) but it didn't matter because we quickly found out we were highly expected to give every single person in the room the bisous and my cheeks had never gotten so much attention. At 5am, me, Aarohi and Amanda happily trooped upstairs with our bellies full of oysters and a chocolate fountain and glow stick and confetti. What a night.

(Also, did you notice a used a lot of parentheses in this blog entry?)

Yes. I copied and pasted that because I had no idea how to spell it.

I'm going now.
Okay.
Check back soon.
Bye

Friday, January 18, 2013

You can never really come home

Insight of the Day

"Home is wherever I'm with you" -Edward Sharpe and The Magnetic Zeros

What is 'home'? What does 'being home' mean exactly? When people say 'I want to go home', where are they looking to go? What do they expect to find at this infamous place, this idealistic memory of a place that may not even exist?

I've been pondering these questions frequently as I mark four months into my exchange (I know, I'm almost half way through, it's insane). To be honest, the first two months of my exchange, I wanted to come home a lot. Even though life was great, my host family great, the food fantastic, I was well taken care of, etc., this idea of home totally consumed me. I begged my mother and my father to let me come home on multiple occasions and my mother always said, 'give it time', which is what I needed to do exactly, of course. My father, however, said something different. He said it several times and at the time I didn't really understand but now I get it. He said, 'you can never go home again'. Mulling these words over, I realize it's true. Because life has changed, because my family has changed, because my town has changed and most consequently, I have changed, meaning my idea of home at this moment may not even exist. To me, home was always where I felt safest, where I could be myself and everyone knew me and that was in the house I lived in. But now, my mother has moved and rented out that same house, my father has sold his house, and I live in a house they have never even seen before. A house I love, a house that is warm and makes me feel happy and comfortable. How is it that the closest thing I have to home right now is 4,000 miles away from my parents and everything that I once sought comfort in? And even more mind baffling, how is it that I am 100% okay with that? It's true you know; I can never, ever, ever come home because I am home.

Paris (and other stuff)

Miss me? It's been a while, hasn't it. I feel as if I've been on a roller coaster ride, one of those that flips upside down and does 300 flips and even though I'm puking my guts out and am scared for dear life, I can't get off. And I don't want to get off. My thoughts are getting increasingly more difficult to sort and pick apart and French words seem to melt into English words seem to melt into words that I have never heard before but somehow my brain decided they exist. Again, I ask you to excuse my lack of sense, not like I ever had any to begin with....

I was just on a radical two week vacation and so naturally, I'll start our story right from the ~~beginning~~ middle, when I went to Paris. I changed my host family the day after Christmas (more on that later, obviously) and there was a lot to worry about like the fact that I suddenly had seven times the amount of clothes I did when I got here and whether or not my family would buy Trésor cereal. When I got there, though, I felt right at home and my adorable little sister, Charlotte, helped me unpack by sitting on my bed and cutting up pieces of paper into a million slits. Than my host mom came upstairs and asked me to pack an extra bag because we were going to Paris tomorrow. LOL WUT. My excitement was tangible. I swore that it would consume me whole. I had to rise at 6am the next day but it was totally worth it even though I'm pretty sure I resemble the grudge at that inhumane hour. During the four hour car ride, packed between my host parents, 16 year old brother, Louis, 12 year old sister, Valentine, and nine year old Charlotte, I couldn't stop freaking out (and sleeping), I was going to Paris! I'd soon be a different person, I decided. One does not simply go to Paris and not change into a different specimen entirely, I was sure.

Paris is amazing. Paris is magnificent. Paris is the epitome of beauty and history and something bursting and waiting to happen. Paris is like New York on steroids. I'm serious. The metro is huge and constantly bustling. It's dirty and grimy and smells awful and I love every inch of it. Walking into the metro is like going into a different world entirely. We walked past four old men in tuxedos playing instruments, ladies singing their hearts out in hope of a few coins, old creepers trying to get some excitement for their day. On the metro itself, held even more goodies. Three boys and a girl walked onto the same car as us and started blasting music from an old stereo. Than they started doing flips and hollering in the extremely crowded car and later passed around a tiny cup in hope of money. I was a regular old tourist and took seven million pictures of everything. "Oh look, the Effile Tower, I better take 100 pictures of that!" "Oh look, a rotten piece of bubble gum stuck to concrete, I better take 123 pictures of that!" English was everywhere. Native speakers in their true glory. It was like crack to me, hearing the English, understanding fully what the people were saying, the inside jokes, the fast flick of useless words and I understood it all. It was delicious and I could be compared to a addict strait out of rehab, knowing the English was bad for me, knowing it would reset progress, but wanting it so bad with every bone in my body. I longed to go up to the two old women and discuss flabby arms with them, the random family and discuss what they were going to eat for dinner; I didn't care what we talked about, I just wanted to talk! And I didn't. Because, one, that's just freaking creepy, and two, I have incredible will power. Probably the most frustrating thing for me was when I would speak to a hotel worker or store clerk in French and they would respond in English. This drove me up a wall and made me want to go all 'je parle français', on their ass but I didn't. I couldn't understand how they knew I was an American until my family told me obviously my accent was incredibly strong. I still found it rude considering I was making the effort! And at this point, I spoke French better than they spoke English but I knew this was just what they were used to doing and paid to do. I found it very off putting how many English speakers would speak very quickly with the French workers and not bother to slow down or even try to say a few words in French. As I waited in line at the hotel desk to ask for the wifi password, the man in front of me started yelling at the clerk in English that he needed a new spoon (why his lack of spoon was the hotel's problem, I have no idea) and all I could think was it was no wonder the French think the American's as a little rude. It isn't everyone but ~~a few~~ one bad experience is enough to make an opinion, we all know that.

It was Christmas time when we went and at night it was simply beautiful. All the trees were covered in lights and the Les marchés de Noël were going on which is basically huge street fairs at the time of Christmas selling things. I stood at a booth with my family where a man was making clay pots. He than proceeded to ask me for my name and wrote it onto the pot in aarabic (yeah, I have no idea why). He gave it to me but not before asking for a few euros, of course! By the time I got back to the hotel, the clay pot was a pile of mush but whatever.

More later.

Everything sucks right now. More when I feel better.

Friday, January 11, 2013

Where did I go?!?

I haven't disappeared off the face of the earth, monkeys haven't come and sucked my brains out, I haven't run off with a French model, I promise. I've been doing this crazy thing called living life and there isn't a lot of time to write endless blog posts with everything else going on! My dad is sending me a computer within the week which will give me ample opportunity to write long, endless blogs but at the moment, between my five other family members, there hasn't been a lot of time to use the computer! Expect a blog entry by next Friday and here's what you will be hearing about: Christmas, switching families, PARIS!!!!, the huge New Years party, and, of course, my intellectual and life changing insights and expressions that you all love so much!( Is it just me, or is my English deteriorating? ^^) Anyways, I love you all. MWAH. Enjoy some pictures while you wait.