La Mort de Ma Vie

February 22, 2010 at 10:55 pm (Pictures.)

The other day I said that maybe this guy was l’amour de ma vie, or the love of my life, but because of my crappy American accent and its inability to pronounce French vowels correctly, my friend Lauren informed me I had called him “the death of my life”. Anyways, I don’t know who I said this about but I actually just met him. The problem being that I met him at my bizarre social prostitution ie english conversation job at a Parisian technical school. Its a job in which I get paid to spend two hours, three times a week doing this and that with young French men who hang on to my every word (mostly because they have to concentrate to understand me). You are forced to get to know these guys, some of which are really cool and smaller portions which are also hot, but the catch: you cannot really be friends with them. No phone numbers. No facebook. No email. You cross these lines and you get canned. Its a very strange thing indeed. In my last EPITECH class of the day, it was just me and this guy going to see a movie in Paris. Second best date of my trip, although hopefully this guy will sign up for another class with me instead of never calling me just because I sent some inappropriate drunk text messages. I got paid for this one too– on fait First best date of Paris.

Looking back at my other posts I highly de-emphasized how shitty life in Paris has really been. Sure, I’ve gotten drunk with great people and had some lovely fun, but this shit is hard. I wrote this the other day:

“What if you are wrong, you know? What if all the things you thought you knew about yourself, or assumed you knew about your personality were incorrect? I guess that wouldn’t happen really, but this experience has really made me wonder a thing or two about who I actually am or think I am. Am I the traveler, the adventurer, the creator that I have always figured myself to be? Am I really going to truly enjoy this expereince of cultural immersion? At this point, all I really feel like doing is talking about American culture and speak in English because I honestly have not met any non-english speakers that I feel an instant connection with. I know this is partially a language barrier, but I have met other non-english speakers in the US that I felt akin to, but then I had the home field advantage.”

I have been going through some serious internal contemplation and assessment. I’ve fallen apart and put myself back together more than once, getting it wrong every time. I look in the mirror and see a Picaso reflection. It hurts to see the self esteem that took me three years of single-hood to build come crashing down, demolished by a little over a month in a foreign, but still western city. What happened to brave, world conquering Katy? Did I leave her with the comforts of Arizona and an apartment above the Pay N Take? Does she only exsist among friends and predictable outcomes? With the praises of instructors and bosses?

I think I might have found her tonight in the cinema sitting next to a stranger: laughing like a child at the small theatre with a ceiling of false stars, comfy chairs and the new Cohen Brother’s film projected with French subtitles. My student looking over at me while I laughed uncontrollably at the wry humor, holding my knees in my arms. My breath was taken away by the ending: one of the best I have seen in cinema. Truly masterful. I was without words, full of feeling, smiling ear to ear with glazed movie eyes. This is me. Open, impressed and emotional. I was glad to feel like myself again. I can only hope that this feeling persists as I go through a week of courses in French.

My big problem is that I feel stupid here almost all the time. I do dumb shit all day because of unspoken cultural differences both ideological and practical and then can’t understand when someone tries to correct me. I go to classes horrified that a professor might call on me for my name or area of study. My usual tactic of avoid eye contact with a professor in order to deter questions doesn’t work when I need to stare intensely, practically panic stricken into their face, watching their mouth for any language cues that I can understand. Taking a semester off French was not a good idea. This is the fear I came here to conquer and I plan to do it, damnit.

I am very lucky to have such a supportive family. I have cry-skyped with my mom over and over and not once has she suggested I come home or that I was in over my head to where I would not succeed. She didn’t even want to kill me when I said I didn’t care if I learned French while here. I am so thankful for her. Thanks Mommy!

Awesome things: Centre Pompidou, Cine-Concerts, French people who don’t give you shit about incorrect pronunciation, A Serious Man, My roommate Anna and her putting up with my crazies, Pain au Chocolat, Lauren and her wisdom, Kebabs, Shakespeare and Co and all other anglophone bookstores, the metro with a Pass Navigo, my corner bakery.

Not Awesome things: French people who are mean when you don’t speak French even if you are not fucking talking to them, my broken camera, not being able to sign up for classes online, French public bathrooms, aggressive and/or predatory men, people who won’t give you a chance, unavailability of brown rice, expenses.

I will leave you with pictures of me and my friends looking good: