So here I am again… in France. But it’s different. I don’t know yet if that ‘s a bad thing necessarily but I just feel that I have no idea what to expect even though I’ve already been here before… I know this city I know what it is capable of in a sense. Yet at the same time I feel like Aix or France in general could surprise me. Perhaps this has nothing to do with the city or the country. No actually I know that it doesn’t. I’ve already done the whole…. Leave the country thing…. Leave your family your friends behind in America. That is not why I am feeling this way.
Oh there it is. I know it. …
My other “family” isn’t here.I thought that I would be okay with this.. that I would arrive and somehow someway walking by the carousal where we’d always meet up wouldn’t be difficult. Or that walking to Marchutz would feel the same… or not like this anyways. I miss them so so so so so much. I don’t know if I can handle it actually. And it’s not just my Marchutz family. I have never felt so alone yet so at home all at the same time. Weaving my way through the cobblestone streets to my host mother’s house had the familiar feeling it once did… but pieces from my familiar were missing. I knew now that once I walked in that door I would always be entering it alone. Opening the door to my room that night was harsh. There was my bed. Freshly made…. A beautiful sight really but melancholy all the same.