last wednesday marked one month since I packed my bags and took off on a 12 hour plane ride for my semester abroad in paris. at this point, I’ve frequented the sufficient amount of art museums in order to convincingly feign a certain pretentiousness in my conversations about art nouveau and impressionism, I’ve consumed enough pastries and baguettes to appall any american diet’s recommended serving of carbs, and I’ve hit an 16,800 step-count monthly average on my health app walking to and from the metro each day.
my first time abroad has been an absolute dream and I cannot be more grateful. my only regret, at this point, is not having carved enough time to continue any personal writing (darned this cursed, incessant, youthful condition that is constantly keeping me more occupied than I need to be: fomo). I’ve learned so much that I want to share about french society, culture, history, coloniality, etiquette, race, fashion, coffee, language, architecture, and the list goes on, of course. most of it, I’ve loved. much of it, I’ve adored. and some of it, admittedly, has made me miss home quite a bit.
after spending quite a bit of time reflecting on it, I think I’ve pinpointed the source of this unfamiliar feeling of homesickness: I miss my communities.
I decided to study abroad way back at the beginning of my junior year. for those of you who know me personally, you’ll know that this past year was one that pushed me close to my limits. I was student body vice president of a campus undergoing multiple and concurrent crises relating to sexual violence, racial profiling, covid safety, and mental health; I was getting out of a year-long relationship that left me piecing together the scraps of a person I didn’t know I had given up; I was a student coming back from two years of a pandemic and online learning unprepared for the stamina and vigor that was required for in-person classes. I know that this past year took a lot from all of us.
so when the opportunity arose to flee the country and, with it, all of my commitments, I jumped headfirst. I signed myself away to a semester abroad, knowing fully well that I would commence my senior year relinquishing all of the positions I held in the countless committees, councils, boards, branches, and taskforces that I prided myself on at the end of my email signature. this, I thought, would be my chance to finally prioritize myself.
and prioritizing yourself halfway across the globe sipping on an espresso at a sun-lit cafe enjoying the fall breeze with a view of the eiffel tower isn’t a bad place to do it. after all, what is consuming leisure and art if not allowing yourself to enjoy the fullness of your individual emotional humanity? (more on this in a later blog post)
paris, however, is not exactly a place where this experience of life and leisure and art happens in communion. you may have heard the stereotype about french people being rude. well, I’m happy to attest that this isn’t completely true. but it’s also not completely false; I have to admit, it’s been difficult to build relationships or join communities with the other french people here. and much of this has to do with a certain (perceived?) pressure to be parisian.
in fact, it’s a place where, politically, the formation of communities is actually discouraged. in france, one is a frenchman first, and a whatever-else second. this applies to race, religion, ethnicity, origin, orientation, and any other distinguishing factor that we americans love to pride ourselves on in our games of identity-politics. this form of secularism—known as laïcité—and france’s colorblind policy actually forbids the government from conducting any census that marks race as an identifier. in paris, ‘identity’ is a bad word. (there are a variety of reasons for this, including the preservation of history and culture, a legacy of collective action as a people united against monarchy during the revolution, france’s national political response to the november 2015 terrorist attack in paris, and an attempted erasure of france’s colonial violence in algeria. more on this also in a later blog post, I promise.)
as you could probably predict, coming to learn these realities (as an ethnic studies and sociology major, nonetheless) left me in utter shock. I mean, all my life in the united states, I had been made to be hyper-aware of the factors that differentiated me from my peers in the predominantly white institutions in which I came of age. at the same time, I have been given the opportunity to create loving bonds with the people who shared lived experiences similar to my own.
I have always existed in community. I can identify patterns throughout my life’s history of times where I have unconsciously gravitated to spaces where I could be in communion with others. my life consists of both de facto and de jure fictive kinships. my unversity’s vietnamese student association gave me a beautiful line in which I can claim a big chị and a little em to celebrate my vietnamese heritage. my childhood was characterized by rowdy visits to my cousins’ houses so my mom could gossip with all the other aunts while the all the children ran off to play. student government offered me a network of other student leaders and activists who passionately sought progress in the same inititatives that invigorated me. the vietnamese american service center became a home away from home where I could sing karaoke with the seniors who reminded me of my grandparents. my first-generation program blessed me with an the introduction to the most incredible group of inspiring women who I am proud to call my beloved friends.
these groups have played foundational roles in allowing me to find comfort, rest easy, and develop my own understanding of self. communities where young people are able to find affinity and shared identity are vital to healthy development (there’s data to back this up). these are the spaces where young girls of color are able to build confidence and imagine greater things for themselves. it was these people who actually encouraged me to take time off to go abroad and take care of myself in the first place.
I’ll be honest, I am missing community quite a bit here.
when I decided I wanted to go abroad, I thought it was because I needed to cut myself off from all ties to these communities. the only way for me to find internal satisfaction was if I eliminated all my obligations and responsibilities to external forces. but, if I’m being truthful, there was a certain element of impatience with myself that also contributed to this decision: it was almost as if, because I was so tied to all of these institutions and organizations, I wanted to see if I could suvive without them. I wanted to test myself and see if I could truly be the strong, independent figure that I sold myself as without the crutch of a community behind me.
I’m coming to enjoy my own company a lot more here in paris. and I’m coming to discover some of my own versions of community here, too (the girls in my study abroad program are lovely and I’m conducting interviews for my thesis on the vietnamese diaspora community here in paris).
but I think that this time away has really made me realize how significant these families that I have created back home really are to me as a person. I don’t think we’re meant to be alone; our obligations to one another are an essential and rewarding aspect of the mutually supportive relationships that we need as human beings. it takes a village to make one person. sometimes, loving yourself can mean allowing yourself to be loved by the people around you.
I am the last person who would have predicted this level of enthusiastic patriotism coming from myself. what can I say? distance makes the heart grow fonder. please don’t get me wrong—I am having an incredible time traveling europe. I have had the privilege of having my eyes opened to more cultures, ideas, and people than I ever imagined. but I did want to take a moment to write this piece. I’ve been sitting on a ridiculous amount of drafts that I have been hesitant to publish. partly because I have not had the discipline to sit down and do the work of research, revision, etc. partly because I knew that the pieces would feel dishonest if I glossed over this aspect of my study abroad experience. I hope that now I can share more of my honest reflections with you.
I will write home more often, I promise. I want to hear from you all more often. text me if anything comes up. tell the wife and kids I say hello. all my love.
nhiều chuyện, by angel lin 