The French language does not use the phrase, "I miss you ". Rather, one would say, "Tu me manques" which means, "you are missing from me".
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| Being a part of a big family is easy. Being apart from a big family is hard. |
And if someone found my many journals filled to the brim, they would find pages upon pages covered in stories about the highlights of my travels, people who made me think, visions of my future, jokes that made me laugh, and so many thoughts about things that remind me of my family. The journals reflect me better than I can reflect myself, because the journals have no audience to cater to, no need for privacy settings or the permanency of the internet. When I was younger I had to watch out for a certain younger sister, but now we have many miles between us, and she has better things to worry about - like when one of these posts will be about her (Sorry Jay not quite yet).
While my timeline may seem like my life in Europe is all exploring mideval cities and hiking up breath taking mountains there is actually a lot more taking place. My first life crisis that came with living in the city Paris came within the first month. The crisis came along with the word city. I had never spent so much time confined within a series of cement structures. I needed an escape, the solution: Annecy.
The second crisis living in a city and being so far away from home was when I realized exactly HOW far away from home I was. I missed my family and just wanted some good New York style Pizza. I needed some comforts from home, the solution: one of my family's favorite movies.
The third crisis was slowly growing, the only crisis I actually predicted but could not prepare fo; missing all of my younger siblings, nieces, and nephew. The journal I brought along for this trip begins with me discussing how hard it was to say goodbye to my eleven year old sister and seven year old niece. I remember hugging both of them and crying, knowing neither one of them understood what it meant that I was leaving for so long or how far away I would be. And I knew that they would each have grown up so much in the short amount of time I was gone.
Last night while sitting in my room I could hear the baby in the apartment below me crying. Sobbing. Wailing at the top of their lungs for what seemed forever. It broke my heart and simultaneously healed it a little. This poor baby was so distraught. Listening to the sounds coming from below my room I couldn't help but imagine myself holding and soothing my young nieces and nephew so far across the Atlantic. Cuddling with them until they stoped crying and the tears turn to giggles again. The sound of a child's laughter and the embrace of their tiny bodies bursting with love are two things that are impossible to obtain when so far from home and everyone around you is a stranger. I paused my music and tuned into the crying baby.
It hasn't just been my young nieces and nephew that I have been missing, but the many kids in my family and life who play such a big role in making me feel whole. Working with children is how I plan on spending my career and without them I would have no direction or purpose. While living in Paris I have felt this growing void of something missing from my life (besides my mom's chocolate chip cookies).
Now, I have mentioned before that going to the grocery store in Paris has been quite traumatizing. The supermarket always seems to have some surprise or angry worker around the corner to tell you off in French. Today I took a chance at a new shopping opportunity, I went to the organic co-op down the street.
In the very tiny little store I began made my way around. While staring amazed at all of the different types of honey that were offered, a woman began speaking to me in French. I want to take a moment to assure anyone reading that my interpretation of French has improved drastically from the beginning of my adventures in Paris. However, when I am caught off guard, I often wind up unintentionally giving the person a quizzical look and responding with "Oui". The women had motioned to her baby carriage while speaking and then she wondered off.
Had she just asked me to watch her baby? She just left me with her baby and walked away. I could have just snatched it up and ran. I was baffled. Not even sure if that was what she asked I figured I should stick around until she came back just in case someone actually did want to snatch her baby and run. I had an obligation to watch this stroller, I had to have said "Oui" to something. I pretended to be interested in the many varieties of organic and ethically responsible tea, coffee, and honey options. Of course I was left in the isle where there was nothing I actually wanted.
Their was a light blanket resting over the cover of the pram so the baby was not actually visible. I couldn't even admire the little child in there while I wondered if I was responsible for it or not. I couldn't even tell if there was a little baby in there. After a few moments, I heard a sound, I saw some movement, I could hear the soft coos of a baby beginning to stir.
She eventually came back and I figured I was safe to walk away. While looking at the different vegetable options I overheard her speaking softly to her baby. What caught my attention was that she sounded as if she was speaking English. She checked out and left. I was so distracted I picked up a bunch of carrots and ran to pay for my groceries (leaving without anything substantial to cook for dinner).
I had to chase this woman down and talk to her. Meeting fellow Americans is rare, meeting them in my neighborhood is unheard of. Waiting for the grocer to finish ringing me up I pictured this woman getting farther and farther away. How would I even know which direction to find her?
My thoughts were interrupted as the grocer said something in French. Caught off guard again, I looked at him puzzled and said, "pardon?" his response was a series of words strung together ending with "compote". Thank you high school French! I knew that one meant applesauce. I pulled it out of my bag and handed it back, there was an issue and he had to re-scan it. Again, and again, and again. Finally it worked and I was able to pay.
I ran out of the store so fast I didn't get a chance to close my wallet properly and dropped my receipt on the ground. The wind picked it up and I had to chase it down. I couldn't litter outside the entrance to the organic co-operative after all. Walking down the street I was lucky to see her stopped outside of another store. I sped up to try and catch her.
I tapped her on the shoulder," Pardon, Vous parlez Anglais?" Turns out she's from the mid-west! Also turns out she had asked me if her baby carriage was in my way. When I answered "Oui" she wondered if I had actually understood what she said, just as I had wondered what she had actually said. She is sweet as they come and I may even have a babysitting gig lined up!
That should to fill that void that has been growing deep inside and resolve crisis number three. I usually spend the walk home from the grocery store sweating over whatever traumatizing incident took place. This time I walked home with an American neighbor, her beautiful baby girl, and her email address, wondering what crisis number four could possibly bring.
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