For the past few weeks now, ever since my psychology teacher told me that I was past the developmental stage where I could have mastery in a language that wasn’t my native language of English, I’ve been ingesting French forms of media with a sense of urgency.
From the existentialist film on the human condition “Au Hasard Balthazar” to Jean-Jacques Beineix’s “Betty Blue” and “Diva,” to music from Édith Piaf to François Hardy to Les Rita Mitsouko, to the original French versions of Albert Camus’ novels, I love it all.
I subject my friends to these, too, whether that means it’s what they’re forced to listen to while I’m driving or if it means they see me reviewing these lesser-known films on LetterBoxd. Whether they like it or not, they’re coming along for the ride—the cultural journey and the emotional one, too.
On an objective level, I realized I actually can pick up on the words that are being said in these songs and films, or the words that I’m reading. Not only that, but I found myself able to create meaning out of the text without having to spend any excruciating time directly translating. It was mind-blowing.
I’ve realized too that there is a much larger world of media that exists outside of an American scope. I hadn’t spent much time considering foreign possibilities of film and music. Although I plan to stick to French for now, it was nice to feel myself breaking away from this Americanized mindset.
Though this exploration started as an intellectual journey, largely fueled by spite, it has subsequently worked to transform me to deeply appreciate film, literature and music again, things I haven’t had the time to immerse myself in for the past four years of high school. It could just be a trademark “annoying girl” symptom of senioritis. Maybe, just maybe, it’s a way to try to conceal myself from considering anything real.
Senior year is a time of tumultuous change for anyone, where friends you have spent so much time in cafés over the past few months as you all avoid doing your homework, all see a horizon. So, perhaps an exploration into a culture which I don’t have any particularly strong ties to, except in my first and middle name, is a way for me to pretend as if nothing is happening. As if no one is leaving. As if I am here and we are here in these coffee shops forever.
Instead, I can imagine that I am walking through the Paris streets, passing people who are truly of no consequence, a titian beret on my head. Perhaps it’s just easier for me to pretend I’m sitting in a Parisian coffee shop munching on a croissant and drinking a few shots of espresso, reading my French book and listening to my French music. Perhaps life is just one big bout of ennui or something existential like that.
It could be that it’s time for me to confront change and the fact that by the end of next month, I’ll have to make a decision on where I’m going to spend the next four years. The idea doesn’t thrill me. I’ve always talked vivaciously about wanting to leave Chapel Hill, explore new places and surround myself with new people, but I can’t say I want to leave my found community so soon.
For now, I think I’ll continue to exist in this realm that avoids the future, where I don’t have to spend any time considering consequences and the future. So, I’ll put in my earbuds, open up “L’étranger” and order another shot of espresso. Maybe a croissant if I feel like splurging.
