fear

there have been precious few times when i have been afraid. when a 14 hand thoroughbred stepped on my back, when i left the country for the first time... but, tonight, i was truly frightened. let me tell you why.

i went to my grandmother's around 6 for dinner. she lost her husband about six weeks ago, so we've all been a little more deferential than usual. anyway, she wanted to cook dinner for me & my parents. we get to the house, and everything is going pretty normally. she's in the kitchen yelling at the pot to boil more quickly.

then, suddenly, we hear a loud crash.

my mother goes into the kitchen calling, "ma! mom!" without any reply. we can't see her but we can hear her. not finding her anywhere, we open the cellar door. there she is, splayed on the floor, with blood running down her forehead.

we didn't know that someone was at the house working on the furnace. he had just finished and was leaving the cellar through the outside door. well, the outside cellar door is a hatch in the floor of the back porch right beneath the kitchen door. so, my grandmother-unaware that anyone was there--went to throw garbage out on the porch. when she stepped onto the porch, there wasn't any porch there. and she fell into the cellar.

they had to airlift her to stonybrook because of her head trauma. and thank god. she needed six stiches on her head--and it's a blessing she needed so few--and she's got multiple fractures: they're thinking both ankles, her left wrist, her right elbow, maybe other parts of the legs...

anyway, it was a wakeup call. she just can't catch a break, and yet she's such a trooper. she was in the hospital, broken bones still not set, worrying about christmas gifts and food going bad and taxes and her upstairs neighbors... it just puts everything in perspective, you know?

assimilation

When I was sixteen, I found myself coughing up blood and phlegm—fire in my chest—trying to tell a doctor what was wrong. The trouble was, no French class ever told me the words for medical conditions and my hysterics (combined with total lack of vocal projection) made me virtually impossible to understand.

This was the turning point for me. After months of assimilating into the French culture, I felt truly foreign. For the first time, I felt alone.

I was in bed for a week, taking God knows what, and missing my friends. I had spent every night watching French television with my French mother, playing with Conton—who was 5--, and listening to French rap. I started saying “oui” while breathing in, just like my French father, and I dreamed in the language.

The first night out after being sick, we went to the triangle—a series of blocks containing all the nightlife. We took a cab instead of riding our bikes, maybe out of pity for me, and got dropped off at The Garage, a British pub.

Sitting together, maybe ten of us at the table, we decided to get a pitcher of Xcider. I went to the bar, ordered the pitcher in the required English, and headed back to the table. But I was stopped on the way by a group of British tourists who asked me for a “vrai” French girl’s take on something or other, and I tried to tell them I was American but they would hear none of it so I lied, gave them some story, and got back to my friends.

I’ll never forget that because it seemed unfathomable at that time that a person could take on cultural attitudes and affects without a conscious choice. And it’s the first time I thought about how we become who we spend our time with.

The next spring, my choir was touring in Austria, and the lot of us went to a dance club in Salzburg. As we went through the night, I was painfully aware of how we were—how loud, how rude, how American. And I thought about that night in France, having people think I was French. What had changed since then? Had I really reverted back so far, taking on all the negative stereotypes Europeans have of Americans? Or was it simply the company I was keeping?

I’ve often wondered this as I’ve gone from city to city. And I realize now that I make very conscious decisions and observations to blend more into the culture of a place, knowing that it is possible to become one more person in that world. It’s partly in our choosing people, friends and family, and partly in our following unwritten rules, but it is possible to assimilate into a culture.

I still miss that semester in France, and one of my goals is to go back there and live for as long as I can. Paris, I think, will always feel a little like home; and Pau, the city where I got sick, will always seem a little like where my best friend is from. I made France a part of me, and once you have that feeling it’s very hard to take away.

So why am I thinking about this now? I think it's partly because I don't want to assimilate into the culture of my current residence, partly because I'd really like to get an opportunity to travel, partly because I'm a little nostalgic, maybe partly, too, because I spent some time recently with a French woman. Regardless of my reasoning, it's an interesting thought process. Why do some people get on so much better than others?

regret

the semester is winding down; i say that with a hint of irony because, in complete honesty, it seems like there's more to do now than ever before. i wouldn't have a problem with the work load if, say, i had been slacking up until now. since i've been working diligently all semester, it feels somehow wrong to be getting slammed at the end. still, this was the choice i made--coming here, doing this--and i have to continue to believe that it has been the best thing.

do i have regrets? that's an interesting question.

i've been thinking about regret recently. i've posed the question to a number of people: do you have regrets? what is your greatest regret? and, generally, everyone has got one. they regret the thing they haven't said, or the thing they wish they had done, or their inability to see a situation more clearly more quickly.

but, me? i don't normally feel those things because i tend to do what seems right or important at the time: i say what i need to say, i do what i want to do. it's in the last category that i find difficulty because seeing something for what it is doesn't necessarily follow any patterns, and we can't practice getting better at it because each situation is dependent on so many outside influences that are uncontrollable. to have a regret regarding something over which we have no control seems silly to me.

having said that, feeling regret regarding something over which i have no control is exactly where i find myself--well have been finding myself since going to new york at thanksgiving.

i know i did everything i could. i'm confident in the knowledge that i wouldn't change anything--not a word, not a glance, not a touch. i'm less confident in the knowledge that there is nothing i can do. RATIONALLY i know i can't do more. but since when does love or companionship have anything to do with rationality? and my irrational heart regrets the end of this.

so where does this leave me?

right now i'm left in a world of half-realized dreams and hopes for the future. right now i'm left wondering if he will ever become the person i need him to be. right now i'm left feeling a little silly because i can't let go of him. right now i'm a little sad because i've lost my best friend. and, ultimately, romance or no, that's what i'm regretting. i regret that i can't allow him to be my best friend the way he was for so long--i regret needing him to be something more and therefore losing him completely.