Apologies

I know. I've betrayed you. I beg forgiveness but life has been amazingly busy. I will write a full update this weekend but I am in the middle of a hell week (there have been quite a few of these recently).

Lately, my classmates and I have been reflecting on our experience here a lot. It's just registered in our minds that we have 3 months and 15 days left. Which is absolutely absurd. I am dreading, with every fibre of my being, leaving this place. I'm in the middle of such an amazing adventure. It feels like a dream that I certainly don't want to wake up from. Ever.

A week or two ago my friend Melanie and I went to a tea shop after school. It was a Wednesday, I believe, so we finished school around 2ish and sauntered through the streets of Rennes until we entered the cozy place. There are two couches at the back and, when you're lucky, you can snag one. We ordered a juice and a coffee and sat down to talk. And oh did we talk. We didn't leave the tea shop until 6pm. Switching between french and english and laughing until our sides hurt, we talked about EVERYTHING. Friends, family, host families, life in America, the words tumbled out. The most memorable topic we talked about is how much we (and everyone else at school) have changed since arriving in France. We're completely different people than the immature bumbling Americans who stumbled off a plane at Charles de Gaulle in September. We've completely transformed into mature young adults (as much as I hate that phrase) who can easily navigate the city, speak presque fluently with the locals and chat with our host families after a long day. We're intelligent young ladies who can write 3 page dissertations on the work of Voltaire for French Literature Class in under 45 minutes. We feel more knowledgeable and interesting and well-rounded. We've never been more proud of ourselves.


Incidentally, what inspired me to write a post today was how at home I feel here. After a coffee in the Jardin du Thabor with my peer support group (with a special guest appearance from the sun), I walked to the bus stop to head home. At the bus stop, there was an old man with a guitar sitting on the bench, surrounded by people. He had his guitar and he was BEAMING, an eternal smile plastered on his face. He sang U2's "One" and I hummed along until the bus arrived. His unending happiness on the bench inspired me to share the experience. Why does everything seem so perfect here?

Yours In Dysfunctional French,

-L