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Breaking up is hard to do.
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Here with my five dear French girlfriends, "qui vont me manquez" so much.
We had a good run. The beginning was honey-moon like, too good to be true, sugary sweet and lovely. I was infatuated. Then there were some hard times, some challenges, some frustrations. But those challenges gave way to real love, to profound respect, and to an everlasting impression on the other.
But now it's over.
I'm breaking up with France.
The past week has been a flurry of exams, goodbye dinners, hugs, kisses, gift-giving and receiving, crying, packing, laughing, remembering, and even planning for when I will come back. I am a wave of emotion one minute, up and then down within instants.
So I have to leave this dear country with whom I was "in a relationship" for nearly 10 months. I have to leave chère France, where people keep their hands on the table, say "Bonjour" just like in Beauty & the Beast, and still smoke quite a lot even if they can't in bars. I have to leave her, even if I don't have the envie (desire) to do so.
But how? How can I break up with this place I love so much, the streets I've walked hundreds of times, the corners where I've met up with friends, where I've rested, where I've sat under the sun, where I've shivered, where I've been lost and then where I've come to know my way? How can I say "Au revor" to the boulangerie where the French get their bread every day, to the bar where I always went to relieve a little stress, to the servers who taught me French on those little napkins used for peanuts? How can I say goodbye to the family who hosted me, who let me into their lives, to see a little piece of French culture? How can I say goodbye to the friends who have become family, to the sounds of the French chatter (conducted ever so quietly, on the bus or the tram), to the small cups of coffee strong enough for the most tired of days?
Though in life, we turn pages, we close chapters, we open doors when another one closes, we seek an opportunity out of a challenge, or we simply keep a memory profoundly close to our hearts, I am having a hard time. My time in France was exceptional. Not easy. Not always was it all dancing in the sun with a cigarette under the Eiffel Tower with a fresh baguette in hand. Oh no. But it was rich. It was deeply rich. The food, my host family, my classes, the friends...the language, even, were all entities with which I created relationships. There are simply no words that convey the brilliance of how unique my experience was. Others may have done it before me, and certainly will do so after, but my séjour (time spent) in France has changed me in a way I never thought possible, and simultaneously shown me the characteristics about myself that will never change.
And so, though I can barely bring myself to do it, I go now to put the last pair of socks in my suitcase, the last couple of books, the last couple of things, and to dine for the last time with my host family. I will leave for Paris tomorrow, and then return to Chicago on Tuesday. But my heart, my spirit, at least in part, will be here, ma chère France, forever.
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