As I lay here in bed trying to sleep I find it almost impossible.
Every night since I have been back in the US there is about an hour before I fall asleep where I lay in bed and all the things I miss about France come drifting through my head. And as each memory comes to mind, the hole in my stomach grows a little bigger to the point when I find myself wide awake. Wide awake missing the things that I never even took time to notice or be thankful for.
I find myself missing absolutely everything about my life in France. Le pain (the bread). My friends. French class, which seemed to drown on for hours. My host sister. My host brother. Both of my host parents. Our bunk bed. Disney karaoke with my host sister. Outdoor cafés. Monacos. Centre-ville. Spending hours on the stairs just enjoying company. Luciana. Enzo. All of my classmates. Pontus de Tyard. The cheese. Not always being able to explain everything. Asking how to say things in French. Speaking french. Crêpes. Nutella. Chez moi. Trains. Sleepovers on the countryside. The Saone river. Day trips to Dijon. Family meals. French T.V.. Language confusions. Sharing a room. My host grandparents.The familiar streets of Chalon. The church bells ringing every hour. Le Cathé. Abby. The form of Vous. Taunting smell of the bakeries in the morning. Walk to school. Discovering many things each day. The constancy of being curious. My little red flip phone. Reading Le Petit Prince with my host sister. The excitement of using a new word you just learned. Listening to French speaking english. The garden. The word "grave". My daily routine.
And this is only the beginning of a very long list that runs through my head over and over again each night.
The things I might never live again and the people who I don't get to see everyday anymore or even on a weekly basis. It's hard, harder than I ever thought it would be. And of course I am so happy to be with my family and friends again but even that happiness does not manage to cover up the pain of missing somethings so much. And its not just "somethings", it's another life, it's my other life.
Every night since I have been back in the US there is about an hour before I fall asleep where I lay in bed and all the things I miss about France come drifting through my head. And as each memory comes to mind, the hole in my stomach grows a little bigger to the point when I find myself wide awake. Wide awake missing the things that I never even took time to notice or be thankful for.
I find myself missing absolutely everything about my life in France. Le pain (the bread). My friends. French class, which seemed to drown on for hours. My host sister. My host brother. Both of my host parents. Our bunk bed. Disney karaoke with my host sister. Outdoor cafés. Monacos. Centre-ville. Spending hours on the stairs just enjoying company. Luciana. Enzo. All of my classmates. Pontus de Tyard. The cheese. Not always being able to explain everything. Asking how to say things in French. Speaking french. Crêpes. Nutella. Chez moi. Trains. Sleepovers on the countryside. The Saone river. Day trips to Dijon. Family meals. French T.V.. Language confusions. Sharing a room. My host grandparents.The familiar streets of Chalon. The church bells ringing every hour. Le Cathé. Abby. The form of Vous. Taunting smell of the bakeries in the morning. Walk to school. Discovering many things each day. The constancy of being curious. My little red flip phone. Reading Le Petit Prince with my host sister. The excitement of using a new word you just learned. Listening to French speaking english. The garden. The word "grave". My daily routine.
And this is only the beginning of a very long list that runs through my head over and over again each night.
The things I might never live again and the people who I don't get to see everyday anymore or even on a weekly basis. It's hard, harder than I ever thought it would be. And of course I am so happy to be with my family and friends again but even that happiness does not manage to cover up the pain of missing somethings so much. And its not just "somethings", it's another life, it's my other life.
As a student who just returned from his stay in France, I completely understand how you feel here. Reverse culture shock is one of the worst feelings I have ever experienced.
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