In case I had forgotten that I was living in France, I got a rude awakening this morning--literally. At about 9 a.m., I woke up to the loud rackets of whistles blowing, chants, screams and cheers. I looked out the window and saw a ton of students not in class. Why of course, there was a protest.
Like in no other country, I'm sure, protests are a part of everyday life in France. Whether participating in them or being affected by them--in a good or bad way--they just are. The students were protesting the laying off of 14 teachers at the school. The cuts would be made for the next school year. One of the cuts would be made in the English department. So they blocked off all the entrances to the schools with shopping carts, tables and chairs, and then took to the streets. The cops had to step in and block off the road in front of the school because the students weren't letting any cars go by. Classes are pretty full as it is--I don't see the point in the administration laying off such a large amount of teachers. And neither did the students.
The students have even gone as far as fighting for me and Jess, the other English assistant. I don't know if I mentioned that we are going to Milan with the students at the end of February for Fashion Week (they study shoemaking and pursemaking). Well apparently, one of the teachers taking the students on the trip thought that me and Jess should pay more than everyone else. And the students were not going to have any of that. So they all marched into the principal's office to protest. I haven't even ever met these students, as I'm not their assistant, but it was touching that they would fight for me without knowing me. It's all about the principle of the matter.
And tomorrow, I'm praying to God that I am not affected by strikes. I have a flight to catch from Paris to Miami tomorrow morning and one of the teachers just informed me that the air traffic controllers are on strike. NOT good!
My friend Jeanne told me that yesterday, all the hair salon workers were on strike in Grenoble. Isn't that the funniest thing ever? I laughed. So yea, sometimes the whole strikes thing gets a bit ridiculous. But it's good to see that the citizens of this country take to heart their freedom of speech and assembly. They really do have democracy here. Vive la France!
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Stuck Between a Rock and a Hard Place
Time is ticking! From the moment I stepped foot off the plane in Europe, I've been doomingly (yes, I just made up that adverb) counting down the days till I would get back on that plane and go back where I came from. "This is so sad, I only have eight more months in France..." is what I remember thinking when I got on that first train. And now, mid February, I only have 3 more months left. Just 92 days, to be exact. And while this may seem like an eternity to some, it feels like with just the blink of an eye, five months just whizzed by and I didn't even notice.
By the end of this week, I need to decide if I want to renew my assistantship here. And I've been thinking about it. But everything is so circumstantial. I want to have a French roommate because my French has not really improved all that much this year. I would love to stay in France for another year, but I would like to live in a bigger city (anything but Paris). A city with good public transportation and more than three bars. A place where there's youth and charm and lots of green space. And I would like to be near the mountains. Grenoble would be the perfect fit, but the chances of me getting placed there are slim to none.
But if I do end up doing this again, what exactly am I expecting? Idealistically, I would love it if all of the great friends I made this year abroad would also stay, and we could all just continue this fairytale life we've been living. But that's not going to happen. If I stay here, everything will be different. Including myself.
However, going back to Florida and to my old job seems like a prison sentence. I want change. As much as I love status quo, and as apprehensive as I am about transition and modifying my life in a big way, in the end, I'm always happy experiencing new things.
I randomly started searching for journalism jobs in the States online the other day. I found this one job in north Georgia. The upside: the town's at the foot of the Appalachians, for a small weekly paper known for training young journalists. Rent is cheap. The downside: the population of the town was something like 4,000, and the median age was early 40s. But on the brightside, the town is 3 hours away from 4 or 5 metropolitan cities, including Atlanta and Nashville. Hmm...
I don't know what I want. I don't know where I'll end up. I've been watching too much "Sex and The City" and I feel a quarter-life crisis coming.
By the end of this week, I need to decide if I want to renew my assistantship here. And I've been thinking about it. But everything is so circumstantial. I want to have a French roommate because my French has not really improved all that much this year. I would love to stay in France for another year, but I would like to live in a bigger city (anything but Paris). A city with good public transportation and more than three bars. A place where there's youth and charm and lots of green space. And I would like to be near the mountains. Grenoble would be the perfect fit, but the chances of me getting placed there are slim to none.
But if I do end up doing this again, what exactly am I expecting? Idealistically, I would love it if all of the great friends I made this year abroad would also stay, and we could all just continue this fairytale life we've been living. But that's not going to happen. If I stay here, everything will be different. Including myself.
However, going back to Florida and to my old job seems like a prison sentence. I want change. As much as I love status quo, and as apprehensive as I am about transition and modifying my life in a big way, in the end, I'm always happy experiencing new things.
I randomly started searching for journalism jobs in the States online the other day. I found this one job in north Georgia. The upside: the town's at the foot of the Appalachians, for a small weekly paper known for training young journalists. Rent is cheap. The downside: the population of the town was something like 4,000, and the median age was early 40s. But on the brightside, the town is 3 hours away from 4 or 5 metropolitan cities, including Atlanta and Nashville. Hmm...
I don't know what I want. I don't know where I'll end up. I've been watching too much "Sex and The City" and I feel a quarter-life crisis coming.
Friday, February 8, 2008
Birthday Abroad
Two is my lucky number. Last week, I turned 22. That's two twos, double the luck. I had two birthday parties and two memorable nights.
On the actual day of my birthday, I had all my friends from our little town over for dinner. We prepared some of my favorite dishes: a quiche Lorraine, red peppers glazed with sugar and almonds, baked fennel, a chocolate cake, a chocolate and pear pie, and an Italian dessert that literally translated means "chocolate salami." Which, by the way, reminds me that I should mention that my knowledge of the kitchen has exponentially expanded during these past couple of months in France. I've learned so many secret recipes, especially Italian ones, and feel as though I can accurately measure things by the eye now. When I get back to the States, I'll host one big dinner party and invite you all so that you can sample all these things! We also played beer pong and I realized that I'm a bit rusty...which only reinforces the fact that I'm no longer a college student, and that makes me slightly sad.
The weekend after my birthday, I was off to Grenoble with a couple of friends because there's nothing to do in Romans. After a full day of shopping, we had a get-together at my friend's place and tons of people showed up, both French and English speakers. My friend baked cupcakes and glazed them with homemade frosting, which really made my day because I love cupcakes!!! But they don't exist in France. And finally, we hit the streets and I was relieved to experience some sort of nightlife, which is nonexistent in Romans.
I received a ton of presents, more than my last birthday and Christmas combined. And they all came from people I've known only since October or later. They weren't just any kind of presents--thought was put into each of them and that made me feel very special. I now own a couple of full-color books on France and this region, a French recipe book for chocolate addicts, slippers so that I'm not walking around barefoot all the time and stepping on shards of glass, the Spiceworld DVD in French, a pretty, colorful necklace stand, a 250-piece kid's puzzle of Europe, and many more.
My 21st year has definitely been my best so far. In the year of 2007, I legally had a drink (or two...or a few dozen), earned a college degree, gained some experience in my field through the internship I did over the summer, explored the South (of the US) and a bit of the Appalachians, discovered my love for rock climbing, moved to a foreign country, traveled around Europe, made friends from around the world, pierced my nose (it closed up already though, but it was pretty rebellious for a girl like me!), had a few romantic escapades, and so much more. 22 has a lot to live up to!
On the actual day of my birthday, I had all my friends from our little town over for dinner. We prepared some of my favorite dishes: a quiche Lorraine, red peppers glazed with sugar and almonds, baked fennel, a chocolate cake, a chocolate and pear pie, and an Italian dessert that literally translated means "chocolate salami." Which, by the way, reminds me that I should mention that my knowledge of the kitchen has exponentially expanded during these past couple of months in France. I've learned so many secret recipes, especially Italian ones, and feel as though I can accurately measure things by the eye now. When I get back to the States, I'll host one big dinner party and invite you all so that you can sample all these things! We also played beer pong and I realized that I'm a bit rusty...which only reinforces the fact that I'm no longer a college student, and that makes me slightly sad.
The weekend after my birthday, I was off to Grenoble with a couple of friends because there's nothing to do in Romans. After a full day of shopping, we had a get-together at my friend's place and tons of people showed up, both French and English speakers. My friend baked cupcakes and glazed them with homemade frosting, which really made my day because I love cupcakes!!! But they don't exist in France. And finally, we hit the streets and I was relieved to experience some sort of nightlife, which is nonexistent in Romans.
I received a ton of presents, more than my last birthday and Christmas combined. And they all came from people I've known only since October or later. They weren't just any kind of presents--thought was put into each of them and that made me feel very special. I now own a couple of full-color books on France and this region, a French recipe book for chocolate addicts, slippers so that I'm not walking around barefoot all the time and stepping on shards of glass, the Spiceworld DVD in French, a pretty, colorful necklace stand, a 250-piece kid's puzzle of Europe, and many more.
My 21st year has definitely been my best so far. In the year of 2007, I legally had a drink (or two...or a few dozen), earned a college degree, gained some experience in my field through the internship I did over the summer, explored the South (of the US) and a bit of the Appalachians, discovered my love for rock climbing, moved to a foreign country, traveled around Europe, made friends from around the world, pierced my nose (it closed up already though, but it was pretty rebellious for a girl like me!), had a few romantic escapades, and so much more. 22 has a lot to live up to!
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
...And Then Things Got a Little Weird
While at the Vatican the next day, I received five phone calls, two voice mails and a text message. The man was getting impatient and I was getting cold feet. What was I supposed to do? Indulge in this foreign less-than-24-hours romance with the man that claims I am his soulmate (WOAH...) or blow him off knowing nothing would come of it?
I called him back with the pretext that I was in a church and couldn't talk on the phone and in less than an hour, he met me by one of the big fountains in St. Peter's Square, motorcycle helmet in hand. He immediately went in for a kiss and I turned to give him my cheek, and he was a bit surprised. He tells me he came on his bike which only had room for two, but there was no way I was going to hop on his bike with him so he can drive me to a far, remote place and lock me up forever, so I asked Desiree to stay with me.
As we strolled through the freezing Roman streets, I mentioned my hands were cold since I had lost a glove the night before, and we stopped at a street vendor's store ( consisting of a blanket laid out on a sidewalk with what is most likely to be stolen merchandise) where he bought me a pair of gloves. The more we walked, the more my feet throbbed and the more we steered out of the city center and into shady, not-so-glitzy neighborhoods. He wanted to show me the restaurant where he worked in case I ever needed to find him. Mind you, the restaurant was closed and he knew it! I thought we were going to eat there and I was starving. After this pointless trip to his closed restaurant, I suggested we get back to the center since I didn't feel very safe. Of course, he assured me that he was a nice guy and wouldn't harm me, but I found that hard to believe as he had me in a near head lock as those very words were coming out of his mouth.
The more this awkward date went on, the more I wanted it to end. The man wouldn't let go of me. At all times, there had to be some body contact, whethe it was gripping my hand so tight the blood wasn't circulating, or putting his arm around me so roughly I felt he was about to tackle me. While on the metro, I stared forward and I could feel him staring at me (he was sitting next to me). I looked at the reflection on the glass in front of me to confirm, and yes indeed, he was staring with dreamy eyes thinking of god knows what with a silly smile on his face. I asked him to please stop staring at me, and he said he couldn't take his eyes off of me. He never wanted to forget my face. He kept trying to kiss me and I continued to turn my head. I told him I only let him kiss me the night before because it was New Year's Eve. Special occasions call for exceptions.
By the time we got back to Rome center, I was desperately searching for excuses in my head to end this. And he was searching for words to express his undying love for me, a girl he hasn't even bothered to ask what she's doing in Rome, where she lives, or what her favorite color is. Whenever he opened his mouth, it was either to talk about his strong feelings or to put a cigarette in his mouth. Some of the things he told me included (roughly translated by me from Italian into English):
1) "But why do I need to know anything about you? All I need to do is look into your eyes and I know everything there is to know."
2) "I love you. I love you. I love you." (at normal voice level, in whispers, or just mouthing it out with no sound.)
3) "My heart is beating 1,235,843 times per second at the sight of you. I love you."
4) "You don't believe how much I love you? Do you want me to shout it to all the streets of Rome so that I can prove it to you? Because I can do that, if you want."
5) "I really don't want you to forget how much I love you. I want to write it on a piece of paper for you to take with you back to France so that when you look at it, you remember."
6) "So why is it that you won't just move to Rome and live with me? You have my love, that's all you need."
And the list goes on......
Now just imagine if you were in my shoes. What would you do? I couldn't take advantage of this man's feelings for me. I had already planned to at least get dinner out of this, but even that was too much. I agreed to a cup of coffee and that's it. I would then go home with the excuse that my feet really hurt and that I wasn't hungry at all for dinner (the latter being a big fat lie). And after coffee, I had to break it to him. I didn't love him. He was too much to handle. I wasn't moving to Rome to marry him. And that I was sorry I couldn't reciprocate his feelings for me.
He took a few steps back, took out a cigarette, lit it up, puffed anxiously, and cried. Yes, cried. I heard sniffles, and I couldn't believe it till I turned around and saw with my own eyes.
Franco wasn't the same person as yesterday. On the last day of 2007, he was mysterious, romantic, enticing, attractive... but on this first day of 2008, in broad daylight, we was overbearing, emotional, obsessive, posessive, scary. Perhaps there was some sort of shift in the universe while we were asleep. However, I must say that this was one hell of a way to ring in the new year.
I called him back with the pretext that I was in a church and couldn't talk on the phone and in less than an hour, he met me by one of the big fountains in St. Peter's Square, motorcycle helmet in hand. He immediately went in for a kiss and I turned to give him my cheek, and he was a bit surprised. He tells me he came on his bike which only had room for two, but there was no way I was going to hop on his bike with him so he can drive me to a far, remote place and lock me up forever, so I asked Desiree to stay with me.
As we strolled through the freezing Roman streets, I mentioned my hands were cold since I had lost a glove the night before, and we stopped at a street vendor's store ( consisting of a blanket laid out on a sidewalk with what is most likely to be stolen merchandise) where he bought me a pair of gloves. The more we walked, the more my feet throbbed and the more we steered out of the city center and into shady, not-so-glitzy neighborhoods. He wanted to show me the restaurant where he worked in case I ever needed to find him. Mind you, the restaurant was closed and he knew it! I thought we were going to eat there and I was starving. After this pointless trip to his closed restaurant, I suggested we get back to the center since I didn't feel very safe. Of course, he assured me that he was a nice guy and wouldn't harm me, but I found that hard to believe as he had me in a near head lock as those very words were coming out of his mouth.
The more this awkward date went on, the more I wanted it to end. The man wouldn't let go of me. At all times, there had to be some body contact, whethe it was gripping my hand so tight the blood wasn't circulating, or putting his arm around me so roughly I felt he was about to tackle me. While on the metro, I stared forward and I could feel him staring at me (he was sitting next to me). I looked at the reflection on the glass in front of me to confirm, and yes indeed, he was staring with dreamy eyes thinking of god knows what with a silly smile on his face. I asked him to please stop staring at me, and he said he couldn't take his eyes off of me. He never wanted to forget my face. He kept trying to kiss me and I continued to turn my head. I told him I only let him kiss me the night before because it was New Year's Eve. Special occasions call for exceptions.
By the time we got back to Rome center, I was desperately searching for excuses in my head to end this. And he was searching for words to express his undying love for me, a girl he hasn't even bothered to ask what she's doing in Rome, where she lives, or what her favorite color is. Whenever he opened his mouth, it was either to talk about his strong feelings or to put a cigarette in his mouth. Some of the things he told me included (roughly translated by me from Italian into English):
1) "But why do I need to know anything about you? All I need to do is look into your eyes and I know everything there is to know."
2) "I love you. I love you. I love you." (at normal voice level, in whispers, or just mouthing it out with no sound.)
3) "My heart is beating 1,235,843 times per second at the sight of you. I love you."
4) "You don't believe how much I love you? Do you want me to shout it to all the streets of Rome so that I can prove it to you? Because I can do that, if you want."
5) "I really don't want you to forget how much I love you. I want to write it on a piece of paper for you to take with you back to France so that when you look at it, you remember."
6) "So why is it that you won't just move to Rome and live with me? You have my love, that's all you need."
And the list goes on......
Now just imagine if you were in my shoes. What would you do? I couldn't take advantage of this man's feelings for me. I had already planned to at least get dinner out of this, but even that was too much. I agreed to a cup of coffee and that's it. I would then go home with the excuse that my feet really hurt and that I wasn't hungry at all for dinner (the latter being a big fat lie). And after coffee, I had to break it to him. I didn't love him. He was too much to handle. I wasn't moving to Rome to marry him. And that I was sorry I couldn't reciprocate his feelings for me.
He took a few steps back, took out a cigarette, lit it up, puffed anxiously, and cried. Yes, cried. I heard sniffles, and I couldn't believe it till I turned around and saw with my own eyes.
Franco wasn't the same person as yesterday. On the last day of 2007, he was mysterious, romantic, enticing, attractive... but on this first day of 2008, in broad daylight, we was overbearing, emotional, obsessive, posessive, scary. Perhaps there was some sort of shift in the universe while we were asleep. However, I must say that this was one hell of a way to ring in the new year.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)