It seems that I am obliged to give some news. Fang Shi and I went to Strasbourg the other day, and there are pictures to be seen! I love France. I do. It gives me this feeling I can’t explain. It’s like… everything makes sense. Even when it doesn’t, I feel as though I have been let in on a great secret. I also love to listen to the French, who think they speak the most secretive language in all the earth. In fact, we visited a crêperie in Strasbourg, and of course FS and I were speaking in English, and a bit of German. Well, the lady to my right couldn’t help but stare at the “Americans” sitting next to her. She must have stared a great deal at us, in complete awe for what she had to hear: English, German, and Chinese… but then! The girl CAN speak French. I must have given her quite 
a start when she heard me order our meal in French. Well, some time later, as we were about to leave, Fang Shi stood up a bit early for such a cramped little restaurant, and indeed the women were none too fond of him ‘being in the way’. They asked several times, “Excusez-moi!” And to which he neither understood nor replied. He simply stood there, until I realized it and told him to move. Swiftly the woman repeats five or six time, “Il est americain!” As if if the greatest sin in the world is to be American, there he was thus accused. What a sad day for my poor Chinese friend, to be mistaken as an American.
There you have it. For some, to be ignorant is to be American. And to not speak French, is to be ignorant. Ahhhh that’s what I love about Europeans. They are as just as arrogant as the rest of the world, but even more so in that they’ll never admit it. There’s something refreshing though, about them. It reminds me of my father’s sense of humour. He much prefers to see someone look stupid, and not point it out… rather than to point it out. Sick sense of humour? Perhaps… but there is something appealing about it. I don’t know how to explain it… but it is fun. Please click on the wonderful picture to the left to see some beautiful shots from our trip. The one to the left is my favorite, and available in color 
So other news? Doner Kebab got into a fight with Carolin. Apparently Carolin doesn’t clean well enough for the OCD patient, and Carolin about had enough of Miss Type-A. I wasn’t in the common room, but I did hear it through my door. Carolin was… how do they say? Angepisst?
I’m feeling rather passionate about everything that I have here. It’s a feeling I can’t explain, but it makes me almost twitch when I have nothing to do. I feel effervescent (yes much like Alka-selzer) and over-emotional about everything. I watched the complete series of North and South today, and if you’re a historical romance/Jane Austen fan, then you must see it. Very good. BBC mini-series. I just don’t know what to do first. I feel as if I could go in every direction with all of the energy bottled up inside me.
Perhaps it’s all the tea I drink that is getting me so excited… but I don’t know. I just feel…. effervescent… did I say that already? The smell of vanilla in my room, the ideas that come into my head…. ohhh the more movies I watch the more passion I have. I guess I just inherit everyone’s feelings. You see, I have no one to talk to these days. Mmmm… this blog is all I have sometimes. Yeah.
I think about my sister often. I wonder often what she’d think of me if she saw me right now. I wear such ‘fashionable’ styles that I dare say she’d scarcely recognize me. Imagine Ashley Bens, the biggest nerd she’s ever known wearing boots, tights, a peacoat, necklace, shirt-dress, and a scarf… all of which match. She’d not know who I was… that is till she saw my hair… and my purse/travel bag which is a hideous shade of green to be taken along with so much black and purple. Haha… then she’d know me. But yeah, I’m working on my fashion sense. I’m trying to grow up I suppose. No more purple pants, maroon tank, and green hoodie. Perhaps those days are gone?
I don’t know… I think I seek to grow up. It’s something I admit I’ve always wanted. It’s almost as if I have it into my head that if you grow up that makes one important. Hmmm… do you think so? I long for the days when I was a little girl and the only thing I ever wanted was to be so smart that people actually liked me. Bizarre, really… because I think the more I remained a nerd, the less people liked me, as far as my peers… hmm…
But in college that all faded… and I guess I don’t know if I resent that part of me… for it seems I have quite a mind to never be smart/hardworking in all my pursuits. Even when I feel the passion for it. I feel like I want to be something that I dislike… or perhaps I just feel like I am unable to achieve anything? I don’t know. I just know now that I have no focus in my life.
Here I am in Mainz, Germany… and I can’t even make up my mind as to whether or not I should eat! I should very much love some company. *sigh* Most of all right now, I long for a friend. Someone who I can actually talk to. I fear I’ve been without one for such a long time. Why did I ever let them go?
It sounds as if I’m crazy. I know. I’m quite happy here, I must admit. It’s just hard for me to not be sure of so much in a territory that is so foreign to me. Then again, the time to myself has been quite refreshing. Having no obligation is quite a feeling.
Mmm… it’s funny that someone once told me that I am the most self-aware person she’d ever met. Really quite odd, because I thought ‘paranoid’ was a better suited word. I think that my main goal while I’m here is to get over this paranoia, or ‘self-awareness’ so that I can actually stop worrying about every little thought that anyone ever has about me.
Contrary to what most people think, I’ve never had much confidence… not about me. Mmmm… yeah… not much to be proud of, you know?
I was thinking today about high school… I was thinking about the day I was sitting in Mrs. Gier’s office, my guidance counselor. And I’ll never forget that day. It was the day she told me that I was Salutatorian. Salutatorian. That translates as “not Valedictorian” *sigh* That translates as “failure” –yes, you heard correctly. You see, I don’t know that anyone ever understood me at that time. I cried and cried and cried, and yet Mrs. Gier and everyone else in that school was determined to make me deny the failure that I had met. They were determined to ‘show me’ that I was so accomplished. And yet, while it seems so very nice that they think so highly of me… I think that was the most insulting day of my time in high school (save for one episode). It was as if they couldn’t let me admit that I wasn’t perfect? They couldn’t allow me to actually come to terms with who I was—and who I wasn’t. It was as if they denied me that chance to come to terms with my perfectionism—and my lack of perfection. I think after that blow… I never really tried to set a goal ever again. In fact I know this to be true. I felt as though I couldn’t achieve goals, so why try? And all the while, I also felt that no matter how much I failed, how much I let myself down, everyone would just pretend everything was well and good… rather than be a little bit honest with me. No one would ever really feel my sense of accomplishment or my sense of failure… in short, whatever my goals were… they wouldn’t mean anything, good or bad.
It’s kind of like when mothers make a big deal out their children falling over. If mommy thinks it is a big deal, IT IS A BIG DEAL! So then the child cries, but when no one cares, they learn that they don’t need to care. So here we are… I cared about my goals, but it seems that it wasn’t a big deal. Now I know that what I cared about wasn’t to be cared about.
I know that I’m stuck in the center of the triangle of being -pathetic-, -a little messed up-, and -dramatic-… but it is what it is. I don’t need a therapist to identify for me where I’ve allowed myself to be defeated. I also know that I’m lucky… well, I don’t like the word lucky, seeings as I don’t believe in luck. What I do believe in is doubt and the power of believing. I know I’m going all Walt Disney on you, but really if you really think about what is accomplished and what is prevented by one’s thoughts.
Prejudice (even on one’s own behalf) can be the worst thing to hold someone back. On the other hand, sheer confidence can make the fat kid the coolest person in the entire high school. And I think that understanding, not pity is the one thing that most people want out of life. Whether you’re an orphan or the most overly accomplished 13 year old to graduate from Harvard… you want to be understood for your faults, your situation, and your passions…
In sociology they call it ‘epistemic privilege’ Where one can never be understood perfectly because another has never lived their life. Oh don’t we all love that situation. It allows us to feel right. Hmm. While some may like me to accuse me of relishing in the idea of having such a privilege, I must declare that I could never admire anyone in that situation. To be understood is something that I should love very much. To pity someone involves such a great offense.
And so I am going to leave you now, and I depart with a feeling of listlessness…
xxbisousxx
