The Final Countdown

Little by little my fellow exchange students are leaving the country, whether or not they will return after Christmas. I just said goodbye to my good friend Coconut/Stephanie. I've sent a box of books home and am preparing to send another to make room for Christmas presents in my suitcases. I'm about to buy the ticket for my train to the airport, and am trying to figure out how I'm going to drag my suitcases all the way down to the gare (I throw French words into my English now. I've forgotten how to pronounce train station). As the end of my stay here draws to a close, I have to ask myself "Did I accomplish what I intended?"

No, honestly. I wanted to see Europe, the entire country of France, and get and Educational Psychology credit for my major. I wanted to slake my thirst for travel and return to little Westminster refreshed and ready for the coming semester. I wanted to figure out whether a return to camp this summer is feasible. I wanted to focus on improving my piano skills.

But I can't ignore what I've gained: a semester in a country as wonderfully mixed up as my own, a deep appreciation for American television, new information on three important periods in music history, a taste for good cheese, fresh bread—never again will I be content with sliced—and a good kebab, a working knowledge of Paris and its subway system, and a second sight that allowes me to walk home at night and never step in the many piles of dog poo nor run into anyone while eating a kebab and watching a new episode of 30 Rock on my iPod. I also walk faster, have revised my definition of a long walk. I now feel confident that I could live on my own (heck, I bought my own insurance. I'm grown), I've remembered what it is like to live without constant internet and television access, which means I journaled a lot. I've come to accept the skinny jean as a part of this year's fashion trends (though I hope to high heaven it's not as big in the midwest as it is here) and no longer raise my eyebrows when I see a non-black person with dreadlocks. My hatred for dubbing has increased despite my willingness to, on occasion, watch two consecutive episodes of CSI, called Les Experts. I didn't even like CSI when I came here, and am still not sure how I feel about it.

I have a sneaking suspicion that I'll get smacked a lot over the next year as I consistenly compare everything to the way the French do things, etc. I'm already wondering how long I could go without a job if I decided to save my money and travel after university, or how well I would survive if I decided to get a job in France. I am filled with a wanderlust that consumes my waking thoughts and my dreams while I slumber. The sweet agony!

My hands are cold—the student union is not climate controlled (which is why all their pianos are out of tune)—so I'm going to stop before they freeze completely. Out.