An English Major in Chicago

Hey, oh, how are y-- Oh, sorry, no, you go first.  No, after you...  Oh, good.  Good.  Glad you're well.  You look... really great.  You do.  Aw, shucks.  You don't have to say that...

Well.  This is awkward, isn't it?  Look, I'm sorry I fell out of contact.  Things got busy, and I meant to write to you, I really did, but the days turned into weeks and the weeks turned into months, and after awhile I figured you probably didn't even want to hear from me.  You're right, that's a lame excuse.  And here you are, a loyal reader as always.  I should have treated you better.  I'm sure you've moved on and found other blogs to read.  I hope you have.  You've always deserved someone more reliable than me.

Now that we've cleared the air a bit, I guess I'll fill you in on what's been going on in my life since last we talked.  That's why you're here, right?  Oh... to collect your things.  Yeah, of course.  Uh, I think there's a cardboard box around here somewhere you can use.  Ah, here it is.  But while you're gathering your stuff, mind if ramble on a bit?  You can reciprocate in the comments section.

The reason I chose to write to you today is because it's our anniversary of sorts.  And because my mom made me.  No, really, she did.  (Not that I wasn't going to write you anyway!)  But exactly one year ago today, I landed in Paris amidst nationwide strikes, lugging two barely-under-the-weight-limit suitcases through the labyrinth of the Metro from Charles de Gaulle to Gare de l'Est, somehow managing to put myself on one of the few trains running to northeast France, and arriving in Bar-le-Duc exhausted, sore and dubious about the slanted ceiling of my apartment, despite the romantic idea of being a young, independent woman writer living in my very own garret apartment in France.  Clearly Virginia Woolf's room of her own had high ceilings; otherwise, she would have bumped her head as often as I did and given up the profession all together.

As cliché as it sounds, it's hard to believe that a year has already passed.  There were the seven months in Bar-le-Duc (that I often thought would never end), my short-but-sweet séjour in Bretagne as an au pair, and the incredible, non-stop, Swiss-Italian-American, summery, good times of Lugano.  I realize that I never wrote from Switzerland, mostly because I was up at 7am and asleep at, well, late, every day, and my downtime was spent cat-napping, lesson-planning and consuming caffeine from the free espresso vending machines in the staff rooms.  How to sum up TASIS?  Let's just say that when I arrived in Lugano, awe-struck by the beauty I had already seen from the short train ride from Milan, I was greeted at the train station with a big ole American bear hug from one of the counselors and I realized I wasn't in France anymore.  No more bisous (although it was finally beginning to feel like a natural impulse), no more heart-attack-inducing first conversations wherein it became abundantly clear that I was far too awkward and socially-inept to function in a foreign language and country, and no more falling back on the timid, meek persona that had become my identity in France to hedge against my making stupid errors and committing twenty taboos before goûter.

Goûter.  We had goûter at TASIS too, although it functioned slightly differently.  Whereas in France even the kids in CP quietly sat at their desks and waited patiently to be handed one Petit Ecolier cookie and a glass of water (no one having to be told that they were to wait to eat until everyone was served), TASIS goûter was an indescribable nightmare of forty screaming international children with selective-English comprehension abilities, running around throwing cups, apple cores and demanding more milk as we drama teachers fought valiantly to preserve a semblance of calm and order and organized bathroom lines for ten minutes, before giving up and allowing the remaining ten minutes to become a free-for-all.  They were the art teachers' problem after that, anyway.

But besides that, TASIS was fantastic.  The campers were smart, outgoing and funny and I connected with so many of them, despite language barriers.  I learned a little bit of Italian and even less Russian, and they learned Shakespeare.  These kids were amazing.  I won't try to distill two months into two sentences or even two paragraphs, but suffice it to say that I hope I'll be back next summer with some practiced phrases in Russian and Italian, and maybe Japanese and Bulgarian if I'm motivated.  Although even nyet worked wonders.

It's hard not to get caught up in the past under the best of circumstances, but even harder after a full year of new places, new experiences, new friends and a new way of living.  Although I've been home for a month now, I still feel like I have one foot in Europe and one foot in the States. (I've got long legs.)  But I'm in no hurry to change that.  I hope that my family and friends in both places will be able to put up with my scatterbrained, split-personality as I try to maintain my two lives.  While I've got two years in Chicago ahead of me as I work on my Masters at DePaul, I know that I'll be back in Europe in the future, hopefully as early as next summer.  I'm not finished with you yet! I might even plan a trip back to Bar-le-Duc to revisit the grocery store, post office, and other places of entertainment.

But for now, here I am, an English major in Chicago.  Not very original, I'm afraid.  You can't take two steps without kicking one of us huddled inside a damp, cardboard box.  While my life may not be as exotic as it was this past year, if that's the word you want to use (it's the one I like to use), I'd like to continue to subject you to my thrilling insights and witty repartée.  However, I think this particular blog must come to a close. 

So, what I'm saying, is that we've been through a lot together and it would be a shame to say goodbye like this.  I'd like to give it another go.  If my apology means anything to you and your heart is still in it.  I want it to be a mutual thing.  I can't write without my readers.  You've given me so much this past year, not least of which is the confidence to write and pursue writing.  Your comments always mean the world to me!

... What's that?  You'll come back?  Oh, callooh callay!  Well, stay tuned because another blog is in the works.  I'll be posting the link as soon as it's ready.  And empty out that cardboard box you're still holding!  Really.  It's where I'm living these days.