In one week, I will get on a train. I will step away from my baguette-filled existence; I will finally finish this chapter of my life. I will cry. Or maybe, smile. This last month has been so ridden with conflicting emotions that it is hard to say what my reaction will actually be when the conductor blows the whistle. Will I be excited, like I was getting on the plane in September, or will I be a teary mess? I don't know. Probably both.
I will miss France. I will miss the gray stone buildings of Flers that my peers find ugly but I find charming. I will miss the typical Normandy architecture that one finds still intact in towns that weren't hit by the war. The little towns sprinkled here and there in between the Normandy cow pastures. I will miss finding yet another magnificently constructed church that is who-knows-how-old in every town that the two-lane, no-billboard highway passes by. I will miss how green the hills are. So green that they look cartoon-ish, a caricature of reality. I will be sad to no longer indulge in fancy tarts every Sunday after a three-hour family meal. I will look back nostalgically on the occasional extended family get-togethers, that include more than 40 people and are possible because no one ever moved away too far from home. I will miss spending Wednesday afternoons drinking coffee at our favorite cafe with my friends before skipping off to my dance class (I won't miss the break dancing, however), and using snow days to go sledding instead of taking notes. I love the little shops in town that specialize in meat or bread or vegetables and are of much better quality than what one finds in the chain supermarkets. I adore the style here. The way girls and especially boys dress, so much more sophisticated and original than in America. I might even miss electro music. More than anything, I will miss the people. The sisters, brothers, cousins, grandparents, nieces, nephews, aunts and uncles that all live close enough to drop by any given afternoon. My international friends from AFS or another organisation who were such a relief when it all got to be too much, and who teach me about cultures from all over the world. And my French friends, beautiful and hilarious, stylish and confident, whom I envy, love, and dance with until four in the morning. These people are what will really have me sniffling as I load my bags onto that train.
And I will be happy to land in Berkeley. I am excited to get a taste of the international cuisine found in restaurants all over the city and also in my own kitchen. Mexican food, Thai food, Chinese food, Indian food, Italian food, even good old American food (my mouth waters thinking about baby back ribs and grilled chicken at the next barbecue). I will feel a sense of relief to rediscover the relaxed openmindedness of the bay area, where people can look past the blue hair and questionable attire to see the real person inside. The French can be much too judgemental. I can't wait to be back in a megalopolis where it is possible to walk down a busy street and not see a single person you know. I miss going to see dance performances and musicals nearly every month to support my friends and be blown away by a great show. I will appreciate school spirit next year, what with sports teams, rally days, school performances, prom, senior pranks, and red and gold graduation robes. France is lacking in school pride. I will be happy to no longer be the foreigner, the one who is always in the wrong, the one whose customs are always weird (like who could possibly eat a nectarine before dinner? That is a dessert fruit Tiana, come on.), and who still trips over words from time to time. Above all, I am enormously impatient to see everyone I left behind. I have lived a year without my parents to pick me up after the SATs, ask me how it went, and make me good food for good recuperation. A year without my little brother to drive me crazy and make the whole family homemade pasta and bagels. A year without my (less numerous) aunts and uncles and cousins and grandparents, who may not all live in California, but who provide wonderful excuses to travel to hot and humid Florida, busy New York, beautiful New Hampshire, or calm and sandy Lake Michigan. (International friends are also practical for this reason). And my friends. A year without my crazy, wonderful, amazing, friends. Friends who never make me feel like an outsider and are up for wilderness adventures, long intellectual discussions, movie marathons, beach trips, or whatever else you can think of. This year had its long moments when I really felt the distance between me and these people.
To be completely honest, if I had to choose between living in the Bay Area and living in Normandy, I would opt for the Bay. As much as I love Normandy, I would miss the California Coast too much if I came here permanently. But leaving after one year here is still so difficult. It is more than just leaving a place that I am fond of. The pain comes not only from leaving behind the many people and things I have grown to love, but also because I have finally made a life for myself here. I am finally comfortable. I did it; I succeeded in finding friends and understanding the French way of life. I have built a new world for myself. Giving that all up is awful. A bit like that Linkin Park song that Eli used to annoy me with all the time. I've tried so hard, and got so far. But in the end, it doesn't even matter.
That song is extreme. I know what I've done here matters. I know how much it has taught me and how it has affected my life. And I really will be happy to be home. But like I said, I can't yet tell if the happiness or the tears will win out on the plane flight back across the pond.
I should go now. It's time to start my suitcase.
