and, so, it is true

to follow, some things i may or may not be proud of.

nonetheless, it is a story.

it is my story.

and, so, i have to own it.

there will come a time when i will look back at this time in my life

and laugh. hysterically.

i will wonder what i was thinking and why i thought this path, out of all the paths, was the right one.

that, however, will be in the future.

right now i find myself knee-deep in french phrases

all muddled, all unclear, all forged

trying to write a term paper on french film criticism.

and if it was not obvious enough, i am an anglophone.

my stance as an anglophone has never mattered to me.

yes, i speak english. it is my mother tongue. so what?

there were all other labels that meant more to me

woman

friend

sister

yogi

but, now, quite suddenly, i have to recognize myself as anglophone.

this recognition has come awkwardly.

i still don't really know what it means.

i just know that other people know this about me the minute i speak.

it makes me wonder if i should speak.

and, yet, i do.

and, so, the confessions of an anglophone learning french in one maniac-esque year:

it is a good day if i remember to shower

it is a really good day if i brush my hair

matching socks are minuscule

action movies do not make more sense in french

woody allen is some sort of film god and one should never critique his films

snacks make the world go round

you will feel ancient when you realize that pluto is no longer a planet.

then you will be slightly tickled when you realize you can use the phrase "back in my day...when pluto was a planet..."

drinking wine for breakfast is acceptable

cupcakes are medicine

coma's help

dreaming in french is a good sign

waking up at 4 am to complete homework is also acceptable.

and so i wait.

wait for the moment when i can laugh at myself. and then - hopefully - mutter something brilliant en français.