Ok, well I knew moving to France wasn't an answer to my problems. As much as I wanted to run away (and well, still do, ironically) I knew it was not feasible.
But what I did not expect was to find new problems. ✨ Let's discover them: A sense of belonging. Alright I'll admit that I never 100% felt that sense of belonging in my hometown - a large portion of people I'd interact with back 'home' seemed fake and toxic as fuck, and I was really tired of their never ending drama. But damn at least I had a support system, family and long-term friends. At least I could speak the language without a shred of difficulty. At least I understand (most) cultural norms and references. In France this is not the case. No matter how good my French is, it'll never be as good as my English. I will never be able to express myself as eloquently as the native French person sitting in front of me and I sure as hell will not understand all your cultural references and norms. I am a foreigner, I am an outsider, and I do not belong in the slightest. I don't think there is anything as isolating as sitting amongst a group of people speaking, laughing, having a good time and for one of them to turn to you and say 'you understand, right? shall I speak more slowly?' Or worse, if they speak English. Ok, yes this is perhaps well-intentioned but it still reminds me and all of those around me that I'm different, and it kinda fucking sucks. I get it, I'm not French, and so it's not the same experience as speaking to a fellow Frenchman. Perhaps the only thing worse to everyone assuming you're difficult to converse with (and thus deciding categorically not to converse with you) is well, when I actually don't understand what you just said. (quoi?) The majority of the time people assume I am here to study, which suggests my situation in France is temporary. No, I live here. This is what I now call home. No, I am not moving back to where I belong (which, no place exists) - can I just belong here? Please and thanks, I want this city to be mine too. Also, did I say problems? Making friends, navigating the cultural differences, the language barrier, it all just boils down to not belonging. And it is no fun at all. I guess I am reminded though, does anyone really feel like they belong where they are? Are we all just fumbling around, sometimes telling ourselves to 'shut the fuck up' when we say something dumb, and hoping to fade into the background. No, just me? I live in France now. I say that aloud to myself almost every day, as if I’ll wake up and it’ll no longer be true, as if I simply still don’t believe it.
Bon sang. Recently I have been oscillating between a giddy child-like exuberance and a panic-stricken state as I realize the grief I have for so long swallowed continues to crawl its way up and out of my throat.
I wish I had had the words then that I have now. But I suppose I’ll just keep reliving it in my dreams, and swallowing, hard. _- 13 days.
I had a goodbye dinner with my family today. I still haven't really wrapped my head around the fact I'm finally leaving, and I don't believe it's completely dawned on everyone else as well. I won't be home for a long, long time. It is surreal. My aunt served orange slices amongst cookies and cakes for dessert. I fondly remember spending the night at my grandmother's when I was young. We would go shopping together, buying my favorite frozen pancake, egg, sausage breakfast type trays. We would buy her favorite tea, which would always come with a little collectible figurine. And oranges. I'd fall asleep on her tufted couch to the sounds of Riverdance, a pre-taped show of Irish music and dance. She had what seemed like endless VHS tapes of it, and I would dutifully pick out a new version every time I visited. Hours later I'd emerge, bed-headed, grumpy, tired. Those typical 90's frozen meals and tea reviving me, and to end the meal, orange slices. She'd cut them a certain way, always sliced into wedges with the peel. I'd chew the orange flesh until all you'd see was white. These are some of my earliest childhood memories. It felt especially fitting to come so full-circle as I embark on this new journey. Especially remembering my grandma's journey to the US in the late 1940's, bringing her heritage with her and transmitting it to me as a child. It's amusing to me to think she came all this way, through all this trouble, for me two generations later to go through all this trouble to go back the same way she came. It's just something I need to do. I was on a work trip a month ago and I went to a restaurant and sat at the bar alone for dinner. I was really looking forward to that moment of solitude.
Of course, someone was there who had to strike up a conversation. My energy shifted into such uncomfortableness as I realized I was not going to enjoy my dinner while in my head, and instead would have to make small talk with a stranger. At one point I had mentioned I was moving to Europe imminently and he asked: "What are you most looking forward to?" Interesting question. Almost immediately I responded: "Being alone. I'm looking forward to be alone." It could have been interpreted as snarky, kind of a "get the hint, dude"... but I meant it. I really want to be alone. Most people who think they know me would say I am an extrovert, without question. I can be very social, talkative, outgoing, silly... but this pandemic has really shown me that I am an introvert who puts on a pretty good show. I do not get energy at all by being with people, in fact I feel physically and mentally unwell after spending too much time with others and not enough time with myself. For the longest time, probably all my life, I have tried to put on this extroverted show for others. In fact, my whole career was dependent on it. You pretty much have to be "on" at all times to be a teacher, same with any time I've worked at a bar or restaurant. I'm so exhausted by being on. I do not want to be on anymore. In fact, any time in my life when I happened to slip off this "on" persona of mine, even for a minute, it was immediately seen as an issue, people thought me a bitch or not friendly enough. I couldn't escape into my head without being seen as unworthy, so I just tried to keep up the charade. Whenever I am quiet it's an immediate "What's wrong?" Most of the time nothing is 'wrong' - I just need to work through the entangled mesh of thoughts that live behind my grey-blue eyes. Maybe I'll feel comfortable sharing with you sometime the things I think of, but until then - don't make me feel bad for needing that moment of solitude. I only want to be in my head, I do not want to entertain your sensitivities anymore. ------ Today at work I said something to a colleague I thought summed up who I am pretty well - I was talking about how exhausted I was by the non-stop plans I have had lately with friends/family. "All I really want to do is watch Titanic for the 5th time this week and obsessively research it." ------ I want to spend time with all my friends and family, I do! But after years of this persona, I simply need time amongst the French countryside to rest my soul - and read about history, or the Fermi Paradox, or Ancient Rome, or technological resurrection, or any other bizarre thing that happens to catch my interest. Anyway, let me know if you want hours worth of endless Titanic facts... because that I do feel comfortable providing. I mean- fuck, the sinking of the Titanic was insane. P.S. - My great-grandparents saw the Titanic as it was being built in the port at Belfast. Maybe that's why I have always had such a curiosity about it. Did they know someone who worked on it, who even sailed on it maybe? Did they themselves dream of being able to board the ship? More than likely. When I first went to Belfast and saw the area my mind definitely raced with these thoughts. Highly recommend going to the museum if you ever have the opportunity! "Alexa, how many days has it been since November 1?" "Alexa, how many days until November 1?" I have a one-way ticket to France on November 1.
So many emotions are now forever tied to this date. Heart-break, loss, fear, elation, excitement, shock, surprise, denial, relief. I would be lying if I said I had handled, or have been handling, it all in stride. I'll admit it to the internet void: I am so afraid, to again experience such loss, the loss of the only life I have ever known, the loss of what could have been. I am afraid of failure, time and time again. Who will I even be? I won't be me. I'm walking into something so foreign and despite my best efforts to prepare for it, there is no anticipating what could be. Who I can be. Who I will be. My anxiety has been sky-high. I have these moments of clarity when I know that despite all the difficulty, the uncertainty: this is what I want. This has always been what I want. I want to leave this city behind and all the bad memories attached to it, I want to leave myself behind and be truly, uncomfortably, alone. I want to heal, I want to explore, I want to be free from the negativity, the judgement, the sadness. These years have been hard. I hate to talk about it, I hate to breathe life into these memories, but it has been what has shaped me to this point, what has pushed me to this figurative edge. I'd like to escape it, I'd like to not run into the reminders. I hope to write a little more positive and up-beat post about this soon, but the thoughts swirling in my head as of late boil down to my primal instinct of self-preservation, like so many other regrettable moments. I want to shed this current version of self and yet preserve it with all my might... the irony, I have been working endlessly for at least three years to get to this point, despite all the distractions, some exhilarating and devastating, comforting and lonely. My inability to act on my wishes have brought about snide comments made "in jest" by people who claim to care, endless requests for me to stay by people who claim(ed) to love me, with zero consideration of the impact of their words. Little support of who I am and what I dream of. Now instead of reflecting on the past, I can look forward a bit to my future, whatever it may turn out to be. So Alexa, how much longer? (27) I never think of the here and now. Mostly, I concentrate on the future, but the roadblock of the past year has quite literally made any thoughts of the future hard to manifest. So, I reminisce about the past. Anything to keep my thoughts at bay. (Anyone else have this coping method down pat?)
With that said, I wanted to share a happy memory. This memory is from mid-December 2010. Months before this I had studied abroad for the first time in Italy and I met my friend Beryl. At first, we expected not to get along, and begrudgingly we were paired up with one another to be roommates. That changed quickly when she saw me looking downtrodden wearing only a towel sitting at our kitchen table. (I had gone to take a shower but it was clogged and draining slowly, I was waiting.) She decided to make me some toast and strike up a conversation, the rest is as they say - history. Beryl lived in Manhattan, and I was living in Upstate NY. We were both on break from college and I decided to take the train down to spend a couple days with her. The whole trip was special, but one memory sticks out in particular. We had planned to take the train to Purchase to visit another friend (and fellow roommate) from Italy. We made some hot toddies to warm us up for our trip, and put them in thermoses. My friend lived in the East Village, and we were taking the train out of Grand Central station. The walking distance between the two is about 45-50 minutes. It was winter, and dark out, but we actually walked. The hot toddies helped with the cold. It was especially late when we came back the next night. Hot toddy-less and having to combat the cold as we walked what felt like forever through Manhattan, I had the idea to share my headphones - she got one earbud and I got the other - and we actually listened to music and danced the whole way back. I remember it was snowing and I thought about taking a taxi, but in true broke college student fashion I decided against it. So Beryl and I danced and sang our way through the cold, back to her parent's home where we surely collapsed in bed, sore feet dangling off mattresses. (Oh, and to add to the ridiculousness - remember this was 2010, so we were attached to one another with the cord. Dance moves had to be carefully coordinated. Cordless earbuds were not yet a thing.) I remember the cold, the sore feet, the tired eyes, but mostly I remember how much fun we had looking like complete fools as we hurriedly galloped through snowflakes to our destination. The dance moves probably sucked, too, and that makes this memory all the better. -bc “Non mi dica che ha sconfitto la nostalgia” disse lui.
“Al contrario: la nostalgia ha sconfitto me” disse Wilson. “Non le oppongo più la minima resistenza”. "Don't tell me you've defeated nostalgia," he said. "On the contrary: nostalgia has defeated me," Wilson said. "I no longer offer it the slightest resistance." - Gabriel García Márquez, I have always thought of myself as the black sheep in my family. I began to realize recently though that I am not the black sheep, but rather a black sheep in my family. My Irish grandmother is the OG Black Sheep of the family, and I am just following her already well imprinted foot-steps. In my blog about receiving my Irish passport, I talked about how I cried when I first saw it. Not happy tears, but tears of sadness. It was a release of a lot of pent up emotions that I just wasn't expecting. I think my grandmother was the main reason for it. She is no longer with me to share in this monumental moment in my life, and I feel as if when she was alive I never really understood and appreciated her life's journey. She died when I was a teenager, way before I began to really come into my own "black sheep" -ness. We would have bonded so much, and it makes me incredibly sad to think we no longer can. Of course, I am also appreciative of her and our heritage. Sometimes I think of myself as someone who picked up the baton and is continuing her journey and that puts a smile on my face. My grandmother was born in 1921 in Belfast, Northern Ireland. If you know anything about Irish history, you will know this is the time of the Irish War of Independence and that it led to the creation of the Irish Free State. As Northern Ireland was mostly protestant and loyal to the UK, they opted out of the Irish Free State. Animosities continued to brew, and the majority Protestants viewed the minority Catholics as enemies. The Catholics in the area were segregated and discriminated against through schooling, housing, and employment. My grandmother and our family are Catholic, so I heard stories about how they lived in constant fear of attack or harassment by others in the street. All of this eventually led to 'The Troubles' from the 60's - 90's, as the Irish Republican Army (IRA) attempted to achieve a United Ireland. A peace treaty was signed in 1997, but sporadic violence continues today against both Catholics and Protestants, and there are a list of kidnapped people who still have never been found. Walls continue to divide neighborhoods, and there are curfews at night when the gates of those walls close. If you have heard the recent news of Brexit and the continued uncertainty of the border between the Republic of Ireland and Northern Ireland, this background information might help you realize just what the worry is all about. A hard border would absolutely not be met with open arms by the Irish. During WWII my grandmother joined the American army as a bookkeeper, much to the chagrin of her family. She was 18 years old and I imagine she was trying to escape the difficulties of her home life, and no one could talk her out of it. My relatives tell me she was looking for a sense of adventure, too naïve of the reality of war. She attended many balls, dinners, and important events as she traveled through Europe with prominent members of the military. She kept all the menus and invitations from these events, I enjoyed fingering through them a few years back when I was visiting my family in Belfast. Eventually the ugliness of war caught up to her as she traveled to Germany and saw a concentration camp first-hand shortly after it was liberated by the Allies. She took many pictures of what she saw, and every year until she died she would donate a photo on Holocaust Remembrance Day to the Jewish Center in our hometown in NY. I cannot imagine the way those years of war shaped her, what she felt after she had seen evidence of such evil. I wish I had asked her about it all, but maybe she wouldn't have wanted to revisit the trauma with her young granddaughter. Shortly after the war she decided to uproot her life and leave her whole family in Belfast in search of a new life in America, enticed by the promises of freedom for all. Her family didn't understand why she would want to leave, but there was no stopping her. She packed all of her belongings in a large trunk, shipped it to the US, and boarded a shaky and uncomfortable flight to NY. There, she settled down and became a model for Kodak, eventually meeting my second generation Sicilian grandfather. Again, her family didn't approve of her preferring a Sicilian over an Irish man, but my grandmother did not care. They married when they were 30 (late for that generation!) had four kids, and lived very happy. Now you know a little bit about the OG Black Sheep of my family. Every time my family gets frustrated and confused about my restlessness and my desires to travel, explore, and permanently move... I just cheekily remind them where I got it from. Sometimes I feel the weight of societal expectations, similarly to the expectations my grandma grew up with but just never cared to entertain. It's still a struggle, I have the "wait, will I ever get married?" or "woah, moving across the world is scary" thoughts from time to time, and some people around me definitely fuel that incertitude, but I feel a lot of comfort reflecting on my grandmother's story. Did my grandmother have those same feelings of self-doubt? Probably, but she carried on, and so will I. Find your path and carry on with it, despite the sometimes opposite expectations and desires of everyone around you. Be that one person who supports you. Here's to being a black sheep in a sea of white sheep. Thanks for paving the way, grandma. -bc |
AuthorIrish-American. Educator. Creator. Writer. Traveler. Archives
March 2022
Categories |