In my thesis, I am exploring how different people, with different environments and backgrounds can find the same conclusion. I couldn’t help but comparing the United States, the country of my grandi, and France, my location, in this same light.
My bookshelf is filled with books for my thesis alongside books about and of France. I read history books for context and novels for the shared experiences. These novels are stuffed with inside quips for the bicultural, such as an obscure reference to the cinemas on rue des ecoles, just beyond the reaches of tourism but accessible to all who look, or the particular usage of words such as chauvinism or excité.
Its strange to exist in this transformative limbo. I just took a test on the Rosetta stone, and I got 97% on the oral section, but a mere 27% percent on the reading section. I orally absorb French culture and language, yet on paper exist only as an Ango Saxon. I read children’s books in French, such as Le Petit Nicolas (now a major motion picture) and Tin Tin, but most of my reading and all of my writing exists in English. I travel in an American bubble, with American books and American concepts.
I wonder what will happen when I return to the United States, when everything will come so much easier. I won’t have to think about what I say before I say it. I’ll be released from my perspective as an outsider, and return to mon habitude.