In the midst of deciphering emplois du temps, learning how to get home at night, speaking with confidence, buying new shampoo because campus makes my hair smell like day-after party smoke, or scrambling to force natural and appropriate reactions to social everythings, you will recall that I have declared that I will not thrive, but flourish. I said that I’d embrace the silence that erupted within me as soon as I displaced myself. I said that I’d hear it, feel it, then delve into refilling myself with the dozens of tones – simple and complex, tous les deux – that used to make up my individual sound. Through everything here, all the confusion or solitude or resilience or conversation, the things I am noticing lately are the things that make me feel the best (french aerobics, that is one) (another one is crossing the bridge over le Rhône- it is staggering and so far nothing else has been able to shock me into realizing where I now live).
Right now my best things are the things that exist quietly but carry enormous, intricate shadows:
For example, I have a magnificent skylight.
And so far the only individual who I’ve had the pleasure of meeting through it has been that weird black pigeon who looks at me in the morning (my neighbour insists that he was not so lucky).
Second, my oven works I guess.
But more importantly, I can make a mean stack of biscuits without it toppling over.