Quebec, Je t'aime

There are, in life, those occasional moments where you live completely in the present, untouched by life's future worries or past mistakes.  These moments come around far too rarely, but when they do arise--when they do peek their heads out like groundhogs without shadows--you've got to take them for all they're worth.

A few days ago during a break at my volunteering placement, one of the men working there asked if I was eager to return home (As-tu hâte de retourner chez toi?), and, after asking him to repeat it twice because I didn't understand the question the first two times, I had to admit that I wasn't.  Not even a little bit.  I'd spent my full three weeks ignoring the looming end date, and with only a few days to spare, I was wishing more than ever that there was more time.

At night, I had dreams about marrying a Quebecois and sticking around, nightmares about being invaded by zombies and Japanese minions, symbols (I assume) of change.  During the day, I dreamt about scrapping the rest of my summer plans and staying in Quebec until August.  Maybe even moving, permanently.

But there aren't enough funds in my bank account.  Or space in my host mother's house.  Or warmth in a Quebec winter.

My last day in Quebec was a quiet one.  We'd thought about going out with a bang--taking a trip to the rocky "beach" near the city or to the beautiful island close by--but we'd stayed out until 2am the night before and woke up tired and/or hung over, and it just made more sense to lay low.  For me, too, it made sense.  The thing I would miss most about Quebec wasn't really Quebec itself.  It was the incredible people I'd met during my time there.  It was the friendships that wouldn't be the same when I left.

My last night, I cried.  Twice, actually.  Once, when a friend came in to wish me goodnight and good bye, and once when two of my roommates came down to hang out one final time.  There I was, sitting on my bed next to two Mexican teenage girls, reading a card from everyone in the house and feeling my eyes pool with tears.  I cried.  My "little sister" cried. We hugged.  We laughed.  We spoke in English and French and Spanish (well, I listened to their Spanish).  We sang random bits from random songs.  We shared stories.  We promised to keep in touch.  We wished each other goodnight.

I hadn't expected to cry.  Honestly, tears felt like an overreaction to the situation.  But by the time I put my head to my pillow, it made sense.  My time in Quebec, and the people therein, meant more to me than I expected, and it was only right to mourn its passing.

So, in honor of the wonderful, kind people that I met during my time in Quebec, I'll say a few words about some of them.  I'll use first initials to preserve their potential desire for anonymity, even though some of them may never read how much I appreciated them.

J: The only man in the house we ever really came into contact with, he occasionally took on the role of the protective older brother.  But most of the time, J was just kind and thoughtful.  He made me feel welcome, and he made it easy to share our cultures and ourselves with one another.

T: One of the first people I met in Quebec, T is kind and welcoming, and she greeted me every morning with a smile.  Above everything else, I love how ambitious and spirited T is.  She has big plans for the future, and she makes friends quickly with all different kinds of people.  And she loves her university.  By god, does she love her university.

A: During our three weeks together, I was always impressed by how cool and self-assured A was.  She sported a short, bright blond cut, and she wore frog rain boots on cloudy days.  She was always a pleasure to talk to and spend time with, and I loved how enthusiastic she was about everything.  I want to be more like that.

M0: M is the best host mom ever, and I feel extraordinarily lucky to have been placed in her home.  She's funny and thoughtful and sweet and kind, and she truly wants nothing more than to get to know you and make you feel welcome.  She's been through a lot in her life--good and bad--and yet she approaches everything with a smile.  I hope to be a lot like her when I hit 60.

V: She would hate me to advertise this, but there was one morning near our school where a random guy walked up to her, weirdly stroked her upper arm, and then proclaimed in slightly-broken English how "elegant" he thought she was.  But he's right, she is.  Extraordinarily elegant.  Honestly, though, her elegance has little to do with her makeup or clothes or the awesome way she curls her hair and more to do with the sincerity that she brings to every conversation and interaction.  She is kind and fun to be with.  She approaches everything she does with purpose and thoughtfulness.  She speaks French well; before you know it, she'll be in the advanced class.

A: A shares that same elegance and purpose. She treats everyone she meets with kindness.  She's thoughtful about everything: her studies, her clothes, her words, her attitude, her friendships.  She always learns as much as she can, and as a result, her French has progressed so much in such a short amount of time.  What I love most about A is her optimism and authenticity.  When you're with her, you can't help but feel comfortable.  You can't help but smile.

M1: Somehow, I managed to befriend a load of Mexicans during my three weeks, and M was no exception to this rule.  Though she came a week after I did, we bonded quickly, to the point where she, M2, and I closed out most nights this past week laughing in the kitchen or singing High School Musical songs upstairs or watching Youtube videos until way too late on the deck.  She is kind and sweet and thoughtful, and she approaches every experience ready to learn and have fun.

S1: S was in the first class I was in, and within days, she, M2, and I became a team, a group, a non-exclusive clique known as the "Fête des Trois" (aka Party of Three, pronounced "fite day twah").  She's short in height but large in knowledge and kindness and humor, and I loved getting to know her.  Had she lived in our house, the Fête des Trois would have been truly inseparable.

S2: This is going to sound sort of self-aggrandizing, and I don't mean it that way, but I'm going to say it anyway.  I now understand how my students feel when they they leave my class.  For the last eight years, I've gotten these wonderful letters from students and parents alike explaining how much they loved my class and science and me, and until my visit to Quebec, I really couldn't sympathize.  I'd never felt that way about a teacher.  But S is a teacher unlike any any other.  He's kind and thoughtful and welcoming and funny--so funny-and dramatic and passionate about what he does.  He greets every student with a smile, and he teaches in such a way that makes you really want to learn.  Material-wise, his class was too easy for me, but I spent the last two weeks of my trip wishing I could be put back into his class.  My final day at the school, during a trip to the festivities for Quebec's St Jean holiday, we ended up hanging out and having ice cream together for like an hour, just him and the Fête des Trois.  I really do hope that I can bring to my classroom this fall even a third of what brings to his.

M2: I saved M2 for last because over a super short time, she became like my best friend in Quebec, like my little sister.  In fact, we've decided that she's going to marry my little brother (who is also 17) so that she can officially be part of the family.  M lived in the same house as me, and we spent the first week in the same class together (she's part three of the Fête des Trois).  Over our three weeks together, it became readily apparent that we had a million things in common and got along unexpectedly well, considering the age gap.  But she's mature and thoughtful for her age, and I like to think I'm young at heart.  She's kind and thoughtful and beautiful and smart and funny and loyal and faith-driven.  She's always smiling and laughing, and we could spend hours together and always find something to talk about.  I will miss her--I do miss her--exceedingly, and I really, really hope that we'll see each other again.  In the meantime, I'll keep wearing the bracelet she gave me and working on the makeup tricks she taught me and practicing the Spanish I learned in her company (Que quieres, eh?).  Sometimes, really, really great people come your way.  M2 is one of those really, really great people.

Each of these individuals added so much to my experience in Quebec, but collectively, they also gave me a new and improved sense of self and of the world.  I'm really going to miss being part of a program where everyone's excited to learn something.  I'm going to miss being part of a house where everyone wants to spend most of their waking hours together.  I'm going to miss being "one of the girls."  I'm going to miss all of it.

Since I started therapy almost four (!) years ago, I've grown so much as a person, and the biggest part of that has nothing to do with the therapy itself, but instead has everything to do with what it's reminded me over and over again: I am who I am, and the best thing I can do is appreciate that.

During our final hang out, M1, M2, and I shared all the things we appreciated about each other, and we made plans to see each other again.  "You have to invite me to your wedding," M2 said.  "Okay," I said, "but just know it probably won't be for a while."  "No," she said, "I think you're going to get married when you're 35."  "Hmm," I said, "35. I like that."

From time to time, I get the feeling that I'm not where I'm supposed to be.  That while the rest of the world is coupling up and reproducing, I'm wandering the desert chasing mirages.  Somehow, though, this trip has given me a lot of peace.  It's taught me that we're all exactly where we need to be.  We just need to keep walking in the right direction.