S’Asseoir Et Regarder Le Ciel

The French word for remembering is reflexive and idiomatic, which means that the verb by itself (rappeler, to call back), when paired with a reflexive pronoun, gains additional meaning (se rappeler, to remember). Grammar lessons aside, I think that the dimensionality of this word is particularly fitting. At least, when I remember something, there’s an aspect of calling back to prior selves, of dredging up old emotions, of interacting with (and, most likely, editing) past experience. As any intro-level psych student knows, memory isn’t a video camera...it's much more personal than that.

Thus far, I’ve tried to shield you (dear readers) from the brunt of my introspective ruminations, but as this will probably be the last entry for a bit – unless something incredible happens between now and October – I figure some good old ruminating is expected, if not anticipated.

So.

As I look back and try to crystallize some meaning from the day-to-day life of an American student in Aix-en-Provence, I can reduce down everything I’ve learned into one French phrase, which is conveniently located on a bracelet I purchased back in the first week of my stay. The sentence, also found in Saint-Exupéry’s Le Petit Prince, can be translated to mean, “sit down and look at the sky.” And I find that this is something I’ve done quite a bit in Aix. My experience here was not the hectic tour du monde (or the equally hectic tour du bar) that most people aim for when going on summer exchange. I don’t have bags of souvenirs, tens of ticket stubs, or stacks of postcards...really, all I've got of lasting import is this bracelet and the book from which it derives.

I’m not going to preach; for a lot of people, most people even, being able to see as many cultures as possible in a six-week span is the spark that ignites a change in opinion or outlook that will last a lifetime. But as for me, I found real value in not traveling, not moving, and instead just staring at the sky. I, who can hardly ever be still without worrying about what to accomplish next, managed to find time to sit at cafés and flip through the pages of a French children’s book. You’ll never believe it, but in the nights before finals I was eating dinner at a nice restaurant, going to the opera, stopping by a shisha bar, and watching episodes of The Saint in French.

So maybe I don’t look any different…sure, my hair is slightly shaggier, and if you look closely you can see a vague ring tan around the third finger of my right hand, and okay, my mouth has a bit of added tension from silently rehearsing all the French I want to say, but a week at the beach will erase all of that. I don’t know how fleeting my newfound ability to let things lie will be; hopefully it won’t be eradicated as quickly.

Another thing – a more obvious thing – that I’m hoping I won’t lose too rapidly is my grasp of a second language. They aren’t joking when they say the best way to learn another language is to live in it. Six weeks isn't a lot, and I don’t know if I’ve been regularly thinking in French – but then, I don’t really think too often in English sentences unless I’m consciously planning what to say. And I haven’t remembered dreaming in French, but I don't think I've dreamt in English either. I do know that I finally figured out how to pronounce the French word for garlic and that I’m able to conjugate verbs without too much hesitation, which is much more than I started out with. I’ve found out enough about language and culture so that my chances of talking to someone on the flight from Paris to Philadelphia are doubled. I don't have to sit back and imagine what these strangers’ lives are like because I'm actually able to ask. Although…I don’t know if I’ve changed that much.

Memory. Like I mentioned, it's slippery stuff. I know it’s kind of rotten for me to throw this in at the end, but I hope you’ve taken the things I’ve written with a grain of salt. I won't go so far as to tell you not to believe everything you’ve read, but, whatever you’re reading this for, keep in mind that it’s not an account of absolute fact – all I’ve recorded are my perceptions and reflections of events that I thought might make a good story. Whether or not it's better than the "real thing" is impossible to say...I hope you enjoyed nonetheless.

I’ll see you in (as we who are French say) Perfidious Albion.