Camus

« Il lui sembla que le cours du monde venait alors de s’arrêter et que personne, à partir de cet instant, ne vieillirait plus ni ne mourrait. En tous lieux, désormais, la vie était suspendue, sauf dans son cœur où, au même moment, quelqu’un pleurait de peine et d’émerveillement. » 

I have to write this paper on the portrayal of being an "étrangère" in a work of our choice. I chose Camus. What I didn't realize was that the book, L'Exil et le Royaume, was a recueil, a compilation, of six short stories. Immediately, I was worried about my thesis. Smashing six completely separate concepts of a being a stranger all into one eloquently-worded sentence or two? In French?

And because all my friends are gone this weekend and I have relegated myself to my attic bedroom to get this paper done, and because the weather has been tellement moche (to the point where this morning, I actually started wondering how the sky doesn't run out of water... but that could also be my brain going crazy with French essays) I was less than excited. It's now 5:20pm, and the light is dim but not yet night. The rain has been battering my windowpane, and beyond, I can still see the top of the neighbor's pine tree waving in the wind from my spot in bed (the radiator doesn't work that well, so Camus, my laptop and I are all getting cozy with the down comforter). I've got headphones in to muffle the racket of 10 nine-year-old boys shooting each other with plastic bullets right outside my door, but I can't focus on anything, and I can't identify with any of Camus' stories of men and women in the Algerian desert. Really, I'm just searching for inspiration.

And then, what do you know, but Damien knocks and comes in with a cup of hot tea, two clementines, and two Carambars to wish me good luck and says, "J'aurais t'invité en bas, mais c'est la guerre ! Bon courage !" (I would have invited you (to eat) downstairs, but it's war down there! Good luck!) And there you go. Inspiration found. Quite honestly, I was dumbfounded. I feel like I haven't done anything for them, but here they are, taking care of me, looking after me, and making me feel like they just care. Simple as that. After that, I can't NOT work. It's impossible to procrastinate when they're making sure I'm as unbothered by a gaggle of boys as possible. So I took my book, again, and aimlessly hunted for something to type into my word document to rearrange into a thought process later.

But in re-reading the book, I found some parts I underlined for my eventual thesis, including the above. It really isn't paraphrasable, so I'm sorry for all you non-French speakers. I really can't do it justice. The point is this: 

"It seemed to her, starting this instant, that no one would neither grow older nor die. In all places, from now on, life was suspended, except in her heart where, at the same moment, someone was crying in grief and amazement."

And so, a few days late, this is ultimately what I am most thankful for: learning the fact that I will never be lonely.

The fact that IES has professors that teach classes that choose themes like the concept of being a foreigner. That I have picked up way too many books that I think are boring or uninteresting and, in being forced to search for something for a thesis, find shockingly perfect quotes that resonate with me and make me feel comforted and understood all at the same time. That whether I feel stupid or inadequate or overwhelmed by my love for a new city, I know I'm not the only one; it's common to the entire human race. Every bit of my experience, every up and down and confusion and embarrassment and thrill and joy, it's all shared. It's universal. While it differs for each person and each host family and each location and truly every single decision I've made since I arrived, it's really not that different at all. Being abroad has been the most humbling experience, because it's made me discover who I am and what I think. And that is something for which I am truly thankful.