On Mondays there is always a 1-hour break between French culture and my economy and society class. Typically I spend this hour running back to my dorm to eat a hasty lunch and then running back but today I was invited to lunch at one of the school restos by Ziming, a girl who I share many classes with but don't talk to nearly as much as I should.
As we were making our way over to a stone wall with our lunches in hand I finally asked her the question that's been burning inside me for these past six weeks: So what's your story? I don't have a special gift for writing - most stories seem to slip from my grasp before I can ever write them down - but still it seemed important at the time to ask for hers.
It wasn't what I expected, but it was beautiful nonetheless. And then she asked me for mine, certainly far less beautiful than her own. I don't know why this surprised me as much as it did, after all, I had just asked her for hers and it only seemed fair. But still, my story is nothing special and even so, I told it to her. We filled this hour with conversation as our stories spread between us until it was time to go to our economy and society class.
* * *
As we were making our way over to a stone wall with our lunches in hand I finally asked her the question that's been burning inside me for these past six weeks: So what's your story? I don't have a special gift for writing - most stories seem to slip from my grasp before I can ever write them down - but still it seemed important at the time to ask for hers.
It wasn't what I expected, but it was beautiful nonetheless. And then she asked me for mine, certainly far less beautiful than her own. I don't know why this surprised me as much as it did, after all, I had just asked her for hers and it only seemed fair. But still, my story is nothing special and even so, I told it to her. We filled this hour with conversation as our stories spread between us until it was time to go to our economy and society class.
* * *
Somewhere in this hour Ziming told me that I should really consider staying in Nantes for a year for she believed in that time I could reach full fluency. My response was automatic and prompt: I can't, I have to get back to VCU to finish my degrees. There just isn't time.
There just isn't time. I tell myself this at least a dozen times as I fight to suppress the urge to write an email to my parents saying that I won't be back as soon as I expected and that I will be sure to write. Every time pragmatism wins and the moment passes.
But still my resistance is becoming threadbare. I'm no longer sure what I want and what I need. I miss the days when life was a path of certainty. Now the path is forking and I don't know what my next step should be.
There just isn't time. I tell myself this at least a dozen times as I fight to suppress the urge to write an email to my parents saying that I won't be back as soon as I expected and that I will be sure to write. Every time pragmatism wins and the moment passes.
But still my resistance is becoming threadbare. I'm no longer sure what I want and what I need. I miss the days when life was a path of certainty. Now the path is forking and I don't know what my next step should be.
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