le fin

I just read Joanne's comment on my last post now, which tells me to write about my "frenchy struggles". Unfortunately, I'm now back in Abbotsford after French camp and didn't write a word on this while I was there. Sorry, Jo. I didn't realize someone actually looked at this other than mom. ;)

My immersion experience was a roller coaster, to put it simply.
I hadn't looked at French since grade 12, which was.... 7 years ago.

The first week I think I cried every day at some point. Not for long, and not out of depression or I hated it or something, but just out of sheer frustration with my incomprehension of the language, the simplest of all communication. I felt robbed of my personality, my humor, my speech, my expressions, my ability to make friendships grow. It was humbling, to say the least. I had a hard time participating in conversations and activities simply because I couldn't understand. Luckily I had made friends within the first few days of english, and they wonderfully stuck by me in the french as well. I worked my ass off to understand, asking my friends who were in higher levels a million questions and sticking my nose in my dictionary constantly.

That was exhausting though. After week two the dictionary generally stayed in the room.
I got into the french groove. It started being more fun and funny than frustrating. I started to fall in love with all of my close friends. Our personalities came through the broken language made into nouveau mots! (EMILY) and the amalgamation of french and english words that sounded similar and meant the same thing (ie. Mait-now, Pourq-why), we became experts in reading each others minds, charade like actions, emotional noises, knowing looks and affectionate touches. Bonds are made deeper when you have to use other forms of communication to get across what you want to express.

Which is why it was soul-guttering to leave them after 5 weeks; 5 weeks with the same people every day, all day, every night, all night (other than sleeping-which was minimal anyways so does that even count?). It felt like part of my stomach had been scooped out with an ice cream scoop, leaving an uncomfortable sinking knot in my insides. Every part of me misses every one of them; Simon, Ilona, Stacey, Carla, Amanda, Emily, Nick, David. And others, who were friends and acquaintances, but not as close as the ones mentioned.

So why do we put ourselves through it? I wouldn't give up meeting these people for anything in the world- I wouldn't take back my intense friendships to skip the horrible missing- of them after it's over. It's the same thing whenever I go away, travel, do something cool with a group of new people. But it felt more intense this time, but maybe I say that everytime.

My return home has been difficult; probably because I'm back into writing my last 3 papers of my degree and then have an uncertainty about what I'm going to do after that, what change that will bring to my friends, my relationship, my house, my lifestyle here. Even the "here" part of that; for I'm willing to go wherever my career in development gives me the opportunity...Or am I?