tangled up in grey spaces

Bonjour mes chers amis. 

I write to you from a quiet Tuesday. My shirts are stretched out from air drying and my stomach is full of Haribo gummies. So clearly, I'm still in France. (the french don't believe in clothes dryers but they do believe in egg shaped gummy candies). 

Since my last post, I've been here a whole month! I started working a whopping 12 hours a week at the local high school, where my main job is to speak in english to a room of confused 18 year olds. It is strange to be speaking so normally, and to be met with confused stares. Often I feel like I must be speaking my own language wrong, before remembering that I couldn't really forget how to speak english, even if I tried.

If you've been paying attention to COVID news, maybe you know that the numbers in France have only continued to rise, and maybe you know about the recent 9PM curfew in many big cities, including Toulouse. I am trying my best to stay safe, and doing that means that most of my days are spent watching Say Yes to The Dress clips (sorry), walking around town, and organizing picnics with the other assistants living here. Not a lot of travel or activity. It feels stranger than ever to be in a new country when you can't explore it. Independence is hard to come by right now, so I'm trying to enjoy all the little things that come with living on my own: grocery shopping and cooking exactly what I want, watching my Netflix choice every time, and generally just living with people who aren't my parents. (Love you M&D) I'm not exactly living the extravagant French life of my dreams. I'm still a 21 y/o on a budget, trying to figure out how long 1kg of pasta will last me. I did, however, visit Toulouse before the curfew was in place, and I've been trying to use my free time to write and read and enjoy one of the big positives of being in my current position: free time.

The last time I was in Toulouse, it was right before I was going to live in Paris, and I couldn't help but think about how different I am now. Then, all I wanted was to be culturally cracked open like a fresh pastry. My whole plan was to experience life by meeting new people, spending time in bars and cafes, circulating monuments and museums, and of course going to da clurb. Because you all have heard me wax poetic about my experience as a study abroad vagabond, you know that my experience there was (for the most part) successful. Somehow, now, it's all a little more difficult and I'm sure that the new difficulties have something to do with quarantine. I think the past few months have taught us all that safety lies in being more closed and close with a select few. Being so far away threw me into a shock that I wasn't expecting. I'm still navigating my priorities: community, independence, career, etc. I guess everyone always is. In this moment though, I feel like naming my priorities is weirdly dire. It seems like if I don't do it now, I'll be doomed to stick with one set of priorities forever. I know that's silly, but these were the musings I was thinking about while I walked around Toulouse.

It has been raining here on and off, but the first few weeks were completely grey. We bundled up in layers, umbrellas in hand, to go see the "rose colored city". For the first few rain soaked hours, we joked that the French were too romantic for their own good. It seemed like a stretch to call this town, which was basically deserted because of COVID, a rose colored vision. Then the sun started to peak out, and I could see the root of the rumor. Almost every building in Toulouse has a shade of red brick incorporated into it, and I felt like I was (at least in theory) a part of la ville en rose. 

I've been speaking french both at home and with friends, and as we walked, mashing Spanish, English, and French together, I also thought: Fluency is a strange thing. It is so easy to forget how steeped you are in your language, and how your language dictates your culture. I think, often, about the fact that I will never be fluent in french. Yes, I've studied it for 7 years in school, and lived/studied in a country where it is spoken. It's true, also, that the smells and tastes and expressions remind me of home in a strange way, since I grew up within a franco-american family. 

Yet, the possibility of becoming truly fluent (and therefore truly french) seems almost impenetrable to me. I'm no emily, don't get me wrong. But even this white-girl-blogger-in-france has to admit that the learning curve is harsh. The language and culture of France are inherently intertwined, and now despite the fact that I am a working adult here, I feel like I am more American than ever. It seems no matter where I go I'm going to have a trace of NYC in my blood, and although it might make me a little more of an outsider in the eyes of Les Français, I think I'll keep it that way.

Sending all of you thoughts of love and safety. 

talk soon.

O