Vous-venez d'où?
-Je viens des États-Unis.
Où aux États-Unis?
-Chicago (sheek-ah-go).
It's a question I've had to answer a hundred+ times over the last four years. It always makes makes me uncomfortable. Chicago is relatively well-known. It's a big city; most people at least recognize the name if they haven't visited, and they respond enthusiastically. I smile and sometimes go on to light-heartedly comment, 'Yeah, it's a nice city. But it's not where I'd choose to live.' And behind this, I brush off the sadness of not feeling a connection to my hometown.
From around age eight, I began to voice my adamant desire to move. My discontent living in a Mid-Western city makes sense now that I've discovered my passion for mountains and the quaintness of old French villages.
The desire swelled into yearning throughout my high-school years. I struggled to make friends. I internalized a deep loneliness; an unshakeable sense of not belonging. This frustration manifested into behavior that strained my relationship with my family, leading to further isolation. I had resigned myself to the notion that I was not at all where I should be, and that I would just have to wait it out. France had never crossed my mind. In fact, without hesitation, I dropped French class my last year of high school when I was no longer obliged to study a foreign language. I was convinced I would be much happier living in American South; where the music I loved was made and played. I fantasized about an idealized country life that probably doesn't exist; memorizing the lines in Steel Magnolias, carrying on in the pursuit of super-voluminous hair.
Living in a foreign country has ways of constantly reminding you that you don't belong. It reminds you of your accent. It reminds you how long you're allowed to stay, as stamped in your passport. France reminds you when you foolishly try to get lunch somewhere after 2:00 p.m. (Though nowadays you might get lucky!) Sometimes, the spectacularly beautiful landscapes seem to confront you.
Living with a family as their au-pair, no matter how kind and generous they are, certainly has a way of reminding you as well.
There were times when these reminders hit me too hard, and I felt terribly lost in the world. Eleven years later, I sometimes still feel like the 14 year old girl who didn't get asked to Homecoming. But I suppose I've built resilience; as a teenager, and as a young woman living abroad. The loneliness is still there. But I've taken it atop mountains, across villages and islands. I've revealed it in relationships and in therapy.
It's no longer the scary feeling it once was.
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