Fifth Days

It's been four and a half blog posts. More than I ever expected to write in this short amount of time and yet even I can see my posts are a little off topic, totally random and probably not of much interest to anyone but myself. So today I decided to make my fifth blog entry specifically tailored for the enjoyment of my readers and answer your most burning question: is Maya a lone wolf, eating lunch in the bathroom stall and passing secret notes from her left hand to her right, or, for some inexplicable reason, have some crazy people decided to befriend this foreigner? This was a huge concern of mine, as well, before i left the USA because, let's face it, I couldn't make friends with all my features and senses intact so how the duck was I supposed to make friends as a deaf mute?
Ha.
The tension must be killing you. Oh the agony of the unknown! I am here to comfort you and my pre-Europe self with news that is so grand, it just might make up for the total lack of peanut butter in my life. You guessed it! All of this (aka me), has somehow managed to make the nicest, sweetest, help fullest friends that money could buy, and I didn't spend a euro!  I know, your relief at this must be immense.
Let us start from the beginning, shall we?
First day of school. Oh look, a new girl. American. Different. Exciting. Let's touch the new girl! Everyone, let's sit next to new girl. Ask the new girl questions about America, quick! Oh.. new girl can't talk. New girl is kind of stupid. Let's just stare at new girl instead. This doesn't make you uncomfortable, does it, new girl? New girl is boring. Let's go.
So than new girl was left to awkwardly stalk her classmates to their classes since she didn't know how to navigate a school six times bigger than her one at home and sit next to big groups of loud kids during lunch so no one would be able to tell that new girl was actually an isolated freak. Nice.
One dreaded day of this and than new girl had the good fortune to be approached by two girls who hadn't taken part of the previous Let's Touch New Girl rituals. The two girls put their heads together for a very long time before they said, "Who do you sit with at lunch? When New Girl told them no one because she didn't have any friends, the girls told her she would never be alone again. They also said they would begin to teach new girl French in exchange for some help with their English. New girl had a very difficult time not jumping up and down and hugging her new best friends at the moment. A very difficult time. The next day, both of the girls had bought mini French-English dictionaries that they carried around in their pockets, never leaving New Girl out. They walked with her to each class so she no longer had to creepily stalk random students, and ate lunch with her. They were more than happy to practice their English all day, but New Girl knew that was not in her favor. She began to speak French with them... Erm, she began to say one or two words in French and repeated them when they were corrected by her friends. She was so happy to find people like this, she really was.
Than new girl's friends told her she was to read a poem for the French project they were partnered on. 10 lines... in front of 30 students... Tomorrow. New girl wasn't sure her friends were so awesome anymore. No dread, no nerves, just numb. That's how I felt standing in front of my French class, poem in hands, covered in marks to show the words phonetically. Almost my time to read. I had practiced, oh, how I'd practiced. Yesterday, the entire lunch period was spent reading it to my friends over and over as they taught me the pronunciation of each individual word. Last night, sitting across from Victoiré as she told me how to pronounce things, the exact opposite way my friends had shown, in front of the mirror, over and over; I had practiced, but I was in no way ready. The room became stone silent and I saw but did not feel my friend nudging me. I swallowed back my breakfast of nutella directly from the container that was threatening to make a reappearance and read the first line, "La terre est bleue comme une orange." Than I paused and watched the entire class, even the otherwise perfectly composed teacher laugh at my attempt. It might not have been mean hearted laughing, but to me, it was the sound of voices confirming my incapability. My heart started to split and not just into two, but little fissures in 1,000 different places and icy hot tears hung just below my waterline, in perfect position to spill at any given moment. But, with the little common sense I pride myself in having, I knew this was a test. And my reaction to this would decide if I was just another silly American or a strong, capable woman that was not ashamed of her incomprehensible accent and California roots. So I let the laughter die down and read the rest of the 89 words; not pausing to see if laughter would follow. I didn't stutter and I didn't slow at the long words. I would read the whole thing, even if it sounded as audible as Skrillex. When I finished, I looked up and a funny thing happened: All 30 students plus the teacher began to clap for me and no one was laughing any more. After our presentation, many people approcahed and told me good job. For the first time in my entire trip, I was proud of me. For swallowing the tears and nutella and reaping the rewards. I walked on clouds the rest of the day. I think life is beautiful. I really do.


"La terre est bleue comme une orange
Jamais une erreur les mots ne mentent pas
Ils ne vous donnent plus à chanter
Au tour des baisers de s'entendre
Les fous et les amours
Elle sa bouche d'alliance
Tous les secrets tous les sourires
Et quels vêtements d'indulgence
À la croire toute nue.

Les guêpes fleurissent vert
L'aube se passe autour du cou
Un collier de fenêtres
Des ailes couvrent les feuilles
Tu as toutes les joies solaires
Tout le soleil sur la terre
Sur les chemins de ta beauté."