Every day this break I have been in my floor's kitchen at precisely 15h00 - that's 3PM in the American timekeeping system - setting my red pot on a burner to boil the water for my tea mug. Because of this I have repeatedly run into several of the same people going about their own dietary routines.
I don't talk to them. I never talk beyond the required "Bonjour." But today that silence was broken by a boy when he asked if I like tea. Thinking that I hadn't heard him correctly, I just gave him a confused stare which was only rewarded with him saying "thé" over and over while pointing at my pink IKEA mug.
I said yes and he went back to chopping his onions. And then: "Es-tu anglais?" Am I English.
I have come to hate this question with a passion. Just those two words "es" and "tu" can set my defenses faster than anything else. I came here to live a life undefined for a semester and yet at every corner there are people who would ask me who and what I am.
I know that the question of nationality when asked in the residence normally carries with it no negative connotation, only curiosity. Especially when asked by another international student like this boy - they always seem to want to know where everyone comes from, almost as if they are making a collection for themselves of different nationalities that they can say they know.
Not wanting to be rude, but not wanting to answer the question that would come after, I poured my boiling water into my cup and said, "Non, j'suis pas anglais, mais j'aime le thé." Then I left the kitchen.
I don't know anymore why I hate answering the question of where I come from. I am American, I come from America but still there is a hesitance there. I feel the constant need to separate myself from my nationality, especially when I walk down in Commerce and see all the American brands and stores crowding the streets and see all the French idolizing American images. I know I do not measure up to their expectations and they do not want to hear that the images they are given are empty.
I am the reality. And this reality brews tea at precisely 15h00.
I don't talk to them. I never talk beyond the required "Bonjour." But today that silence was broken by a boy when he asked if I like tea. Thinking that I hadn't heard him correctly, I just gave him a confused stare which was only rewarded with him saying "thé" over and over while pointing at my pink IKEA mug.
I said yes and he went back to chopping his onions. And then: "Es-tu anglais?" Am I English.
I have come to hate this question with a passion. Just those two words "es" and "tu" can set my defenses faster than anything else. I came here to live a life undefined for a semester and yet at every corner there are people who would ask me who and what I am.
I know that the question of nationality when asked in the residence normally carries with it no negative connotation, only curiosity. Especially when asked by another international student like this boy - they always seem to want to know where everyone comes from, almost as if they are making a collection for themselves of different nationalities that they can say they know.
Not wanting to be rude, but not wanting to answer the question that would come after, I poured my boiling water into my cup and said, "Non, j'suis pas anglais, mais j'aime le thé." Then I left the kitchen.
I don't know anymore why I hate answering the question of where I come from. I am American, I come from America but still there is a hesitance there. I feel the constant need to separate myself from my nationality, especially when I walk down in Commerce and see all the American brands and stores crowding the streets and see all the French idolizing American images. I know I do not measure up to their expectations and they do not want to hear that the images they are given are empty.
I am the reality. And this reality brews tea at precisely 15h00.
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