After months of planning, I’m sitting in the Myrtle Beach
airport waiting for my flight to depart for Philly before heading onto Charles
de Gaulle. I can’t believe this day is finally here! Over my past three years
at Clemson, I have dreamed of becoming a Duckenfield scholar, and now that the
time has come to depart for a summer at Oxford, this accumulated anticipation
makes the moment feel surreal.
As you, dear reader, probably know, I was fortunate enough to study in Paris last summer, and although I did not realize it at the time, I was changed forever. I had been bitten by the travel bug with and felt the delicious itch to see the world, experience new cultures, new languages, and new paradigms for living life. More importantly, I changed as a person. I became more confident in myself, and I learned to trust my intuition and ability to operate under combined mental and physical pressure. (Lugging two 40lb+ suitcases, a duffel, and a book bag while running one of the world’s biggest cities is no small feat for anyone, much less a person of my stature.)
As you, dear reader, probably know, I was fortunate enough to study in Paris last summer, and although I did not realize it at the time, I was changed forever. I had been bitten by the travel bug with and felt the delicious itch to see the world, experience new cultures, new languages, and new paradigms for living life. More importantly, I changed as a person. I became more confident in myself, and I learned to trust my intuition and ability to operate under combined mental and physical pressure. (Lugging two 40lb+ suitcases, a duffel, and a book bag while running one of the world’s biggest cities is no small feat for anyone, much less a person of my stature.)
I learned to see others in a different light. It was as if
Paris let me peek into the personal lives around me. One day on the metro
towards Montmartre—the city’s most eclectic arrondissement, full of Northern
African immigrants and baba-cools (the French term for “hippie”)—a Nigerian
family stuffed themselves into an already over-crowded car. Dressed in
traditional African robes, one of the women had a six-month-old strapped to her
back with a baby sling made from a knotted piece of cloth. The metro was so
crowded that the baby was sandwiched between its mother and my chest. I will
never forget the feeling of that complete stranger’s baby wriggling in its
fabric cocoon, staring at me with its brown, almond-shaped eyes, and grinning
that drooling, bubbling smile that is unique to babies around the world. It was
as if, for that moment, I was as if I was included in that baby’s life in a
sort of extended Parisian family that enveloped the city.
Similar experiences occurred when I helped a dad carry his toddler’s stroller up a flight of stairs, telling him of my studies. Or when I met the most darling grandmother at the metro stop on the Champs-Élysées. Or when a middle-aged painter kissed my hand at Place de Voges. Or when I ran my first 10K with 1,000 of my closest Parisian neighbors in the 11e arrondissement. Or when I made friends with the security guard at the top of Notre Dame. Or when I sat across from a homeless woman on the métro. Or…
Really, Paris helped me see people for what they are: people. Their individualities, their similarities. Their preferences, their distastes. In such a big city (or in Paris, anyways), there is no room for judgment, no time for pettiness. People just live. And its contagious.
As I reflect on my Parisian summer, I have to laugh at my pre-Paris self, at how completely unawares of the life changes and personal growth ahead of me. Now, as I sit waiting to depart for now Charlotte and then Charles-de-Gaulle flights (my flight to Philly was delayed 7(!) hours due to mechanical issues on the plane, so I’m now on a different flight), I am aware of the magnitude of the life-altering experiences that lie ahead of my at Oxford, yet I can only dream as to what they will be. I know I will experience an academic revival, a rebirth of sorts, in the ways in which I think about literature, about Shakespeare, and about England. I will be inducted into a great lineage (both literary and otherwise) of those who have studied at Oxford, and with that membership I will receive my Bod Card for the Bodelian Library system.
As for the academic experience itself, beyond a basic understanding of the concoction of tutorials, lectures, and class (vs. entirely lecture or discussion-based education), I honestly feel as if I have no idea what to expect. I imagine that the experience will be far different than anything else.
Some associate going to Oxford with a sort of real-life Hogwarts experience, of attending school in an architecturally rich setting full of magic and mischief. Yet for me, I feel as if Oxford will be more of a Narnia type of experience, where everything holds a different sense of magic, where the magic emanates from the place itself, rather than the people there.
I’ve fortunately spent three days in Oxford before on a high school choir trip to England, but I spent most of the time in rehearsals, rather than perusing the town. I do distinctly remember High Street, though, and the famous Sheldonian Theatre and Radcliffe Camera Library. One of my favorite memories from Oxford, however, was when my mom and I went to see A Midsummer Night’s Dream performed in one of the college courtyards. It was one of the most enchanting experiences of my life. Although it was raining and cold (i.e. miserable), I enjoyed every minute of the play. I can only hope that I can catch some more of those performances this summer.
But before I head to Oxford, I’m off to my beloved Paris. As I told my best friend, ma mailleure amie Julie G, it feels like I’m going home, in a sense. It feels like I’m headed back to Clemson after a long summer, only in this case, the break has lasted for more than a year. Nevertheless, I can’t wait to smell the French air, gorge myself in Camembert and baguette, submerge myself in the language, and lose myself in la patrie de mon coeur, the country of my heart.
Toujours,Similar experiences occurred when I helped a dad carry his toddler’s stroller up a flight of stairs, telling him of my studies. Or when I met the most darling grandmother at the metro stop on the Champs-Élysées. Or when a middle-aged painter kissed my hand at Place de Voges. Or when I ran my first 10K with 1,000 of my closest Parisian neighbors in the 11e arrondissement. Or when I made friends with the security guard at the top of Notre Dame. Or when I sat across from a homeless woman on the métro. Or…
Really, Paris helped me see people for what they are: people. Their individualities, their similarities. Their preferences, their distastes. In such a big city (or in Paris, anyways), there is no room for judgment, no time for pettiness. People just live. And its contagious.
As I reflect on my Parisian summer, I have to laugh at my pre-Paris self, at how completely unawares of the life changes and personal growth ahead of me. Now, as I sit waiting to depart for now Charlotte and then Charles-de-Gaulle flights (my flight to Philly was delayed 7(!) hours due to mechanical issues on the plane, so I’m now on a different flight), I am aware of the magnitude of the life-altering experiences that lie ahead of my at Oxford, yet I can only dream as to what they will be. I know I will experience an academic revival, a rebirth of sorts, in the ways in which I think about literature, about Shakespeare, and about England. I will be inducted into a great lineage (both literary and otherwise) of those who have studied at Oxford, and with that membership I will receive my Bod Card for the Bodelian Library system.
As for the academic experience itself, beyond a basic understanding of the concoction of tutorials, lectures, and class (vs. entirely lecture or discussion-based education), I honestly feel as if I have no idea what to expect. I imagine that the experience will be far different than anything else.
Some associate going to Oxford with a sort of real-life Hogwarts experience, of attending school in an architecturally rich setting full of magic and mischief. Yet for me, I feel as if Oxford will be more of a Narnia type of experience, where everything holds a different sense of magic, where the magic emanates from the place itself, rather than the people there.
I’ve fortunately spent three days in Oxford before on a high school choir trip to England, but I spent most of the time in rehearsals, rather than perusing the town. I do distinctly remember High Street, though, and the famous Sheldonian Theatre and Radcliffe Camera Library. One of my favorite memories from Oxford, however, was when my mom and I went to see A Midsummer Night’s Dream performed in one of the college courtyards. It was one of the most enchanting experiences of my life. Although it was raining and cold (i.e. miserable), I enjoyed every minute of the play. I can only hope that I can catch some more of those performances this summer.
But before I head to Oxford, I’m off to my beloved Paris. As I told my best friend, ma mailleure amie Julie G, it feels like I’m going home, in a sense. It feels like I’m headed back to Clemson after a long summer, only in this case, the break has lasted for more than a year. Nevertheless, I can’t wait to smell the French air, gorge myself in Camembert and baguette, submerge myself in the language, and lose myself in la patrie de mon coeur, the country of my heart.
Meredith
No comments:
Post a Comment
Dear Reader, share your thoughts!