I know you're not supposed to write "in conclusion," but it's just a head's up.
I love this blog. I have all these drafts, titled and everything, so I wouldn't forget any days.
But I did promise (at least to myself) that I'd give you guys the less politically correct version once I was home. Especially now since I've got my housing deposit back!
Caveat: I loved Paris. I was there with some people who actually said, "I hate this place." I did not hate Paris. I'd do it again.
Except...
1. A week after I arrived, my new roommate (Nicole) had moved in. We rearranged the rooms because we had a living room that no one was using. We figured she could sleep there. It was for her benefit as much as my own, as she had a boyfriend who lived in Canada (can't resist the urge to link to this song, though it is NSFW), and you know--time change makes Skyping even worse.
So a situation we didn't consult Amanda on. I feel bad about it in retrospect. When Amanda came back, her mother was furious. But did she ask us to move it back ourselves? Nope. We were delinquents who had to be taught a lesson. So she went to the school and the company Comforts of Home, who provides the apartments.
I fully acknowledge that her mother must've bullied the Housing people, as we started receiving emails that what we did was inappropriate. We had to turn our room back into a double, since the living room was deemed a "common area." When Nicole asked if we could at least put a glass pane in the door (it had an open window-ish in it), they were appalled. That would be privacy! That would block off the area from Amanda! From me!
They even asked us to send them pictures after we were done, and they said they'd be checking in on us again.
We are not in elementary school. Nicole and I were both 20. We moved the room back and we hid there for a week as Amanda's mom cleaned around the house. We were too scared to go out. She rearranged our stuff in the kitchen.
It was especially bad for Nicole, who is a bit more soft-spoken than me. So one night when she ventured out and I heard some raised voices, I went out myself, thinking, Someone needs to help Nicole.
It turned out that it was me who needed the help.
Amanda's mom yelled at me.
Only my mom has ever yelled at me.
She said things even my mother--who has witnessed all the terrible things I've done--would never say because she is a human being who respects certain boundaries.
I went in my room and cried.
Nicole, bless her heart, went ask to quietly ask Amanda's mother to leave, as I was very distressed. I called my mother, and I could hear my mom's panic as I got my scared and out of control.
Amanda's mother only said, "I didn't shout at her. It's against the rules to shout."
I don't even know what to say to that.
She dodged meetings with the AUP higher-ups. I didn't even see her again when she came back at the end of the year. I never felt terrorized after that night, but that night was truly awful. There was a thought that Nicole and I might be kicked out of the apartment. Where could I go? Nicole had friends. I had no one.
It was fucking terrifying.
2. I don't even know if writing about this will help, but I need to.
In March, one of my good friends came to visit me.
Timeline: this is a week after I flew back with my mother, after my grandpa's passing.
I had midterms. I was stressed. I was sad.
I was a bitch.
He was staying with me, and after about three months of being alone, I had begun to treasure my autonomy. Being home, though relieving, reminded me of having to answer to everyone. I just wanted to think alone. Listen to music. Read Ulysses. Get back on track.
Maybe the memory is tainted by my trip back for my grandpa's wake, but I felt like I had a helicopter over my head at all times. I just wanted to be alone. I was energetic the first few days. I missed class to make sure my friend arrived safely. But that was a precedent I should not have set.
So many calls. Coming into my room while I was asleep--and while my roommate was asleep too. Because I slept in, I know, but I felt like I couldn't sleep enough. My room didn't feel safe, and since even Amanda's mom didn't enter the room, it felt like such a violation to my crazed, stressed-out mind.
I'm not defending my actions. I'm not saying sorry. I'm just telling you what happened.
Unable to walk around the Louvre because I had to follow. Wanting to run off into the gardens of Versailles. Missing Jamie like crazy. Crying myself to sleep on more than one occasion. I felt so trapped. It was in my head, but it wasn't. Jamie and my mother didn't have expectations for me to be happy all the time.
I am a terrible friend. I was worn thin. But honestly, I decided I valued my independence more. Especially after Jamie's Oreos were gone. Oreos she had paid to send overseas for me because the ones in France are definitely different. As my aunt who lived in Greece knows, you CANNOT eat/use the American goods if you're going back to America in a few days.
I tried to laugh it off, which was BS because I was steamed. Should've made that more apparent.
Said I was attached to Jamie and was putting too much pressure on having a good time with her. But I did have a good time with Jamie. I just wanted to have more. I didn't have high expectations. I can't give you a magical Paris if you're not willing to experience it. The people who love Paris can laugh off the less-magical aspects, unlike the Japanese with Paris Syndrome. (It's actually a thing. Look it up here.)
I'm going to regret writing this, and I can't even say I'll feel better after having written it. But I had something to say that I couldn't say for a while.
3. I'll keep this short because writing this had made me tired. And just like with Hank's 17 rants, it doesn't feel as cathartic: it just makes you annoyed.
Comforts of Home: Fine. You took 20 euros off our deposit. Whatever. But let's remember that we hired a cleaning service that basically put water on the floor, wouldn't even go near the sink if I had put one cup in it from the night before, and didn't dust. We didn't have a vacuum cleaner. We had a broom, but it had so much dust and hair on it that wiping that around would've made the place worse--and it did when I tried.
I'm just saying to anyone who does the program: it's great. The school. But do a homestay, for the love of F. Scott Fitzgerald.
