Fleeing the Comfort Zone

The first day of orientation, our program director explained to us that one of the greatest difficulties we will face here is our inability to express ourselves. She said that this would be because of the language barrier, which I have definitely found to be true, but I think there are other factors that play into not being able to paint a true picture of yourself when you are so far from the place you call home. The language barrier is the most noticeable way in which I feel distanced from my host family and the other habitants of Strasbourg, France. At the dinner table, I will spend most of the hour concentrating so hard on what my host mother, father, brother, and sister are saying that I will forget to contribute. Sometimes, when I finally have a grasp of what the general conversation is, it has moved on too quickly for me to get a word in. Occasionally, I understand a sentence or phrase that I can immediately think of a response to. If I were back in the United States, I would be able to react and respond to those recognizable sentences without thinking twice. Here, I think, re-think, and over think everything. This is another reason it is so difficult for me to express myself here: I don’t feel as though I understand French culture enough to see what is rude, funny, acceptable, etc.

“If I say this, will they think I’m funny, or ignorant? Oh well, I don’t know how to say it anyways,” is a thought that runs through my mind quite often. I have a little experience with seeing cultures that are so different from my own, specifically during visits to my family in India. But, for some reason, that is easier for me. I think it has to do with the fact that I am with my family who loves me and will accept me, but I think that another aspect of that reasoning is that the culture is so different from my own that I am patient with myself and know that sometimes I may be completely lost in what is going on. But in France, I feel like there are enough similarities to the culture I am used to back in the United States that I tell myself I should know what I am doing. I get mad at myself if I do something wrong. When I go to eat a meal in India, I can see that everyone else folds their food in their naan and eats with their hands. That is different. It’s so different from what I’m used to that I never question my need to follow someone else’s lead or ask questions. Here in France, I sit down at the dinner table and there is a fork, a knife, and a spoon. This isn’t different. But after a few minutes of feeling comfortable I notice that my host sister has been cutting her pizza carefully with her fork and knife and my host brother is using his bread to keep his meat and tomato together before it reaches his mouth.

I realize I’ve probably sounded negative, but don’t get me wrong: I love the discomfort. I love how long I need to reflect on and process the act of buying a sandwich because it is so difficult for me. I love needing to ask my host sister where it is acceptable for college students to hangout downtown because I have no idea. I love to wonder whether or not every move I make is plastering “I AM A FOREIGNER” across my forehead. I grow more from situations in which I am uncomfortable than situations in which I am excited or afraid.

            Still, it’s good to be able to hang out with my English-speaking friends here and remember exactly who I am. I’m so grateful for the kids on this trip and the way in which they, sometimes unknowingly, seem to support each other and help each other learn. To end this long post, here are some pictures of the people I am so happy to be sharing this adventure with:

From left to right: Victoria, Victor, Liv, Lucas, Lucas, Me, Kathleen

From left to right: Kathleen, Sarah, Katie

From left to right: Jen, Me, Liv, Sarah