I suck at blogging. That is a fact about myself that I’ve resigned to. I know that I could be better at it if I really really wanted to be, but I guess I just have other priorities. I’ve always been more of a journaler, even though I’ve also been slacking on that as of late. In journals, I know that I can be completely honest, or at least as honest as my subconscious will let me. I don’t feel the same way about blogging, where I feel like I have to restrain myself in certain ways. And if I can’t be completely honest, then what’s the point? I know there’s more to it than that, but this post isn’t about all that.

I’ve been home from Europe for seven months now. And between that time and now, I haven’t blogged about it at all (as you can see, the preceding post was written last June). I’ve written about my experience in my journal during my time in Paris and since I’ve been back, but not to the extent that I would’ve liked. That was where this blog was supposed to come in. Before I left, I gave the address to this blog to a few of my friends for them to see what I’m up to across the world. But as the three lone posts on here can attest, I didn’t chronicle everything like I envisioned I would. But the thing is, I also wasn’t writing in my journal either. I think that as I was going through everything, and even now that I’m still processing it, it’s hard to put into words what it was I was experiencing. Some words pop up into my head as I think about it, like transformation or self-creation. But how does one write about it when you don’t know how to explain it to yourself, let alone to other people?

Now that I’m back, I’m curious to know if some of my close friends can tell that I’m a different person, and if so, in what ways? I know what about me has changed, but what do they see as being different? Maybe they can point out something that I can’t see. Like how a couple of months ago, my godsister commented that even my voice has a brighter tone to it, she doesn’t hear the stress that I guess was palpable before. Of all that I’ve gone through and seen in Europe, the thing I’m most proud of is how I’ve changed and the person I am now. Questions about the museums I’ve been to or the foods I’ve tried aren’t as important to me as ones about what I’ve discovered about myself, what I’ve learned about people and relationships and family, and did I find what I was looking for?

But people don’t ask questions like those. It would be generalizing for me to believe that everyone who studies abroad goes through the same self-exploration/creation period that I did. I’m sure that many go through something like this, and I would be interested in hearing about some of them because I only know my experience, but then again, I’m not sharing much either. People always say that studying abroad was a life-changing experience for them, this epic journey of self-discovery. But they never really say how or in what way. I count myself as a member of that group, and I can see why details aren’t mentioned. Because even I have a hard time telling someone else about it all, especially someone who hasn’t studied abroad.

I love sharing when people ask about my time abroad. But I think I’m too honest for their expectations. This coming from a girl who had very high expectations about the city of Paris and her supposed-to-be life-changing experience. I think it’s hard for people to hear about how I was depressed for the first four months of my time there due to the fact that I had a horrible home-stay experience at the start, then moving and having to deal w/ rats and a crazy landlord, and then moving again to another apartment, all within three months’ time. And while that was going on, I also had to deal w/ getting a bank account and my Carte de Sejour (temporary residency card), which meant dealing w/ French bureaucracy, and for which I’ve never been more glad for clear-cut American rules and details. And I’m pretty sure I had a strong bout of Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD) as it was winter and the sky was overcast for months at a time. Hard for me who is used to the California sun nearly every day and the gorgeous deep blue of the San Diego sky. After I found out I would have an extended winter break lasting two months, I was eager to spend a few weeks back home.

Paris is not the romantic, rosy image of vintage nostalgia that it’s made out to be. Before you start disregarding that statement as bullshit or say that I didn’t see the “real” Paris, I should mention that I grew to love Paris and I miss it immensely, but more on that later. I’m also about to make some generalizations about French people, so my apologies in advance. I really do admire the French. They are just proud people who hold their culture and language to the highest regard. But most importantly, they have different cultural nuances than Americans do. Walking down the street and just smiling for smiling’s sake isn’t that weird in America. If one were to do that in Paris, people will give you looks as if you were completely crazy. The French has always been known as being private people. In the Metro, everyone is living in their own world. Most people don’t talk and have a stoic face on, so I adopted that too to blend in. I got really good at it and even perfected my Bitch Face in the process. I was getting used to the requisite black and greys of wintertime wear. This was the bad side of anonymity and I’m sure it didn’t help my mood.

The weather was taking a toll on me (a true Cali-girl at heart). So all that, coupled the fact that I had a horrible home-stay experience, made it all the more worst. I think that played a bigger part of my depression more than I would care to admit.

The Jazz Era and Funk Lessons

With only a few weeks left in Paris, I'm trying to hit up all the museums left to visit and eat all the pastries still to try. But given that I am addicted to sleeping late and thus waking up late, I can only go to so many in one day. But I was able to check off the Quai Branly museum off my Google Map today. I've been meaning to stop by for a while now to catch the Jazz exhibit they have going on. I'm a huge fan of big band and swing music and to see how jazz transformed through the decades was really interesting. And it definitely helped that it was English-friendly, not surprising considering jazz is an American product.

They had tons of posters and record covers on display. Loved the artwork.

Fred Astaire in "Swing Time."

Jeff Wall - The Prologue

The exhibit also showed how jazz factored in during the Civil Rights Movement and the Beat Generation. And of course, Soul Train. I loved this documentary by Adrian Piper, called "Funk Lessons," where she teaches how to dance funk to a diverse group of people and talks about the stereotype that white people can't dance. Here's the only clip of it I could find:

Louis & Marie

Today was my program's day trip to Versailles. The only problem was that they were taking a bike tour for the day, meaning they were going to be riding bikes most of the time. Ok, so there is another problem-I don't know how to ride a bike! Yes, really, I, Christine, at the age of 20, do not know how to bike. As in if you put me on one, I will fall over in half a second. And there are others out there just like me, I promise! I know some. How is this possible you may wonder? Well, I just never asked my parents for a bike when I was little, that's all.

I didn't know it was going to be a bike tour until two days before and if I'd known earlier, I would have probably tried to pass on this excursion and get my money back, but I doubt it would have worked because we don't get reimbursed for the trips we don't go on. So I actually ended up touring the chateau and the gardens on my own, which I didn't mind at all, I'm more annoyed that I paid for a tour that I could have done on my own for half the price. But there's no point in thinking about that, I still had a very nice day. It's just that I've been feeling really guilty lately about spending so much money.

For Mother's Day, I sent my mom and godmother flowers (damn, flowers are expensive, I'm so glad I'm a girl). And when I called to make sure they got it, my mother was all happy and yada yada yada over hers, while my godmother was chastising me for wasting money like that. Even though she thought it was a sweet gesture, she didn't think I made a wise money decision, which made me feel guilty and sad. I must sound like I have some complex about money but really, it's because I know my parents have been working extra hours this year so that I could study here, that and the Asian Guilt goes deep. I can't even explain Asian Guilt, it's intense in a "can't get away from it" kind of way. And it's not something that parents push on us either; well, most of the time anyways. I think a lot of it stems from the fact that us being second-generation Asian Americans, our parents gave up and are still giving up their lives so that we have a successful future, and you don't want them to do this but they're still going to do it and it goes on and on. That's the reason why I try not to eat out very much, it's crazy expensive in Paris and I can't afford to do it every other day. Which then makes me feel guilty about turning people down when they ask if I want to eat with them because it makes it seem like I don't want to hang out with them, but it's just that I'm trying to budget. Ok, ending rant here. This was suppose to be about Versailles, not me spilling it all out on some virtual therapist couch.

So yes, Versailles was lovely, and very tiring. The estate is HUGE and sprawling. And I spent a good amount of time walking around the chateau with my audio guide, even though it wasn't very informative. I saw some really nice things, but overall I wasn't as impressed as I thought I would be. That's probably because I've been to so many castles by now that they're all very similar so there wasn't a whole lot that was particularly amazing. I think the most interesting thing was imagining Marie Antoinete walking around the mansion, holding fancy balls, frolicing in the gardens. Except now my image of Marie Antoinette is Kirsten Dunst a la Sofia Coppola.

The security check line.

Forget white picket fences, I want gold-gilded ones.

They had the best ceiling murals I've seen yet, beats even the ones at the Louvre. But I think it's because the ceilings are closer so you get a better look at all the details.

The famous Hall of Mirrors. I didn't think it was as OMG as people make it out to be. I was expecting to be blinded by all the reflections.

I want that globe.

Marie's secret door.

An old oak tree.

Family Secrets

(My Grandaunt and her three kids w/ my Grandma and Grandpa)

One of the most interesting experiences I've been having here has nothing to do w/ France or traveling but it's learning about my family history, or for that matter, about family secrets. Well, not so much secrets but things I never knew or asked about. I'm lucky to have a grandaunt who lives near Paris, that means homecooked Chinese food whenever I stay for the weekend.

And it also means hearing about my mother's love life when she was my age. Apparently, my mother was quite the flirt back then with a few boys after her, and one in particular who was very smitten except she didn't plan to stay in Vietnam forever. And when I heard all this, I was pretty stunned, in a You mean my mother was young once and had boyfriends? kind of way. My mother and I have never talked about dating or boys; as far as I know, my parents had sex once and that was it, End of Story. It's really weird to think about your parent's lives when they were your age, going through a lot of the things you're going through now, and the rest of their life before you came along, in that they actually had one.

And then when I was talking to my mother on the phone yesterday, she was telling me about how my great-grandfather was very rich and had a lot of property back then but he sold it all for opium, which he and my great-grandmother got addicted to and died from. So that was a Whoaaa really? moment for me. That and how my great-grandfather is from "Dai Ma," which is a Chinese way of saying first wife, though the whole multiple wives thing, usually 2-3, wasn't surprising as it wasn't the first time I'd heard of it happening in my family. But then I also realized that those aunts and cousins whom I'm not so fond of on my mother's side are actually kinda half-relatives, which I took some slight glee in, but not that it matters to me at all, I'm used to half-relatives, such is a side effect of multiple wives during the olden days. Some day I really have to draw out my family tree.