Ladies and Gentleman, Staff and Locals welcome today’s contestants with a big round of applause! The NINFS (New Immigrants, Non-French Speaking) playing with us today: Mr. Ecuador, Miss Cambodia, Mrs. England and Mrs. America.
Round 1:
“Your passport”
“My paper?”
“No, your PASSPORT”
“My PAPERS?”
“No, your Picture!”.
Miss Cambodia stares dumbly.
Round 2:
A-B-C...; Go over there.
64 Kg; No, over here.
Stand up. 1meter 90cm… in heels?
Spin around in circles, make a wish.
Round 3:
In the purple door, out the blue door. I’m supposed to take off WHAT?
Door slides open. Arm here. Stand there. Turn. Leg here. Come. Go. Sit down.
Good Girl, here’s your biscuit.
Exit Orange door.
Miss Cambodia grips her shirt closed, eyes wide.
Mrs. England sits straight as a board, cheeks flushed, glaring.
Mrs. America (yours truly) does a little tap dance and smiles.
Final Round:
Le Gauche! Squash? Quizzical looks. Mr. Ecuador shrugs.
Clipboard snaps. Eyes roll. The White Labcoat sighs...
Oh! I know, Left! Silly me…
And for our Grand Prize winner? A trip to Vaccination for a complete round of shots, all expenses paid! All contestants will recieve consolation Chest X-Rays to take home.
Thank you for playing “The Medical Exam”, brought to you by the Office of International Immigration. Join us next week for our Back to School special, "The French Illiad: 500 Hours of Linguistic Adventure".
CRAVATS, NECKERCHIEFS: This stylish accessory that every Frenchman and woman can be seen touting all over the world stems not so much from a sense of stylish sheik as it does from practicality. French weather leans towards the windy and damp. Protecting one’s throat is a necessity. You could wear a bulky scarf, but why? Instead, utilize a swatch of luxurious, beautiful fabric that keeps the warmth but reduces the bulk and is discreet enough to be kept on indoors. Your own private indulgence to revel the senses in during the day, a spot of color in the grey of modern monotony.
Aesthetic Intelligence. If you must be practical, color it with passion... the details are what make Life worth Living.
1742
I trace the carved stone with my fingertips. Smooth, cold. The wall smells of musty dirt, bitter carbon and oil.
Clickety, clack
My heeled boots chatter loudly, echoing down the narrow cobbled street.
S-H-H-H, The Rain demands.
I obey and find myself stopped in front of 1742, an ancient stone courtyard surrounded by towering, pastel apartment buildings. Fresh, clear water pools around my feet, weaving through the cracks of the cobblestone. Just me, the wall and my cherry red umbrella left to debate with The Rain.
I laugh in retort.
The clouds break forth a torrential downpour, sheets of water stun me to silence. The Rain wins.
Comforted by the familiar conversation with The Rain, soaking wet, I squeal with delight. If I listened carefully, would I also hear what the wall was whispering? Of Revolutions, emperors, republics. Horses, electricity, cars. Mud to pavement, blood to chemicals...
The history of man I trace within the face of the silent stone. 1742.
I glance at the old woman watching me from behind the lace curtain in her upstairs window, and smile. I am home.
Voices call in melodic languages, scurrying, pushing.
The tinge of fresh dirt in the air, the bitter scent of onions, garlic. The crackling of the corner spit fire. Ruby red tomatoes, golden corn. Baskets upon Baskets heaped with tangled string beans and squashes. Fresh eggs, spices and olives.
Polyester, dry and thick to the touch nestled in crisp cardboard boxes against scratchy lambs wool and cool silk sweaters of every size and color. From high poles stylish dresses flap, teasing the beautiful shop here... furniture, fabric, pots & pans, cosmetics, rugs, shoes. The Weekly Market here is Walmart, with a twist of haggling.
And People. People swarming everywhere... Dark skin, Yellow skin, Brown skin. Blue, Green and Dark Brown eyes. Mismatched fashions from all Continents: batik island brights, isle wool caps, cowboy boots and ski jackets. The clashing merge of traditional, modern, culture, religion and practicality.
Eyes met eyes... are they just like me? Do they struggle to live here also, to fit in? Or do they see my white skin, my pale eyes and their body flinches, their eyes grow cold– will they double their price when I ask? Split second stereotype, am I one of US or THEM?
As I walk away with my plastic bags, I realize just when I thought I understood so much about the world, I know so very little indeed.
1 hour. 2 hour. Sitting on the sideline. Couples pass No. 22, No.35.
Wait. Wait. Wait.
No. 88!
Center stage. Tap, Shuffle, Tap. Curtsey. Smile. Shuffle, Shuffle. Bat-Bat eyelashes. Tappity-tap foreword…
And back. Bad breath? Wrong coat? Smiled too much? Wrong step.
Sideline again. 1 hour. Turn to the Left. Line B.
And 1 hour. 2 hour. Sitting on the sideline. Coffee, sandwiches.
Couples pass No. 54, No. 72. Time stands still. Wait. Wait. Wait.
A dropout! Window of opportunity… No. 88.
Flash! Center stage. Tap, Shuffle, Tap. Curtsey. Smile. Shuffle, Shuffle. Bat-Bat eyelashes. Tappity-tap foreword…
Print, Stamp, Print. Shuffle. Smile. Turn Right. Line 2.
Repeat 3 months, 6 months, 9 months... Voila! The Immigration Tango.
The best way to brace the world outside is with the knowledge of a strong foundation within. So I am going to dedicate the next few weeks to building a new interior to help me face the outside world that is already beginning to creep inside and overwhelm.
Haircut, exercise, skin maintenance, diet. Reprogramming better habits.
New clothing, not to be ashamed of the body and figure I have worked hard to maintain all these years. Deliciously indulging in the details of who I am, what I prefer. Guilt management will follow closely as my American programming is that I am not worth all this time and attention.
But with the aging body comes the thought… I can’t keep ignoring it's needs much longer. I am tired of seeking outside approval for what I could readily supply myself. I want my body and soul to have the same freedom my mind enjoys.
Who knew that moving to another country was akin to personal revolution?
French woman in particular have always held a place of mystique by the American mind, they have that certain sense of something, incredibly attractive and seemingly impossible to copy. When viewed closer, there is nothing superficial to copy, no false pretense: minimal makeup, natural hair, fitted clothing, delicate shoes.
Yet exquisitely beautiful.
The secret is their assurance that they know who they are, looking you in the eye, demand their space in public, walk by without acknowledgement… all with a sense of style and grace. They don’t need your approval to exist, to be beautiful. They believe they already are, they care for themselves, their own pleasure as their reward. It is the old art of Femininity in it's truly powerful form that makes French Women so thrilling to Americans.
And thus, so must I begin my own journey, to not apologize for existing, for being human, for being a Woman.
People.
Everywhere I look I recognize a familiar smile or pair of eyes, yet when they speak they are foriegn, new. The sensation of different cultural beliefs, the novelty of a unique way to view the world is what intrigues me most about traveling. French Men and Women have always been admired for their style. But really, this style is nothing more than the end product of a careful investment in Time, a classic Hare vs. Tortoise race.
They are a People who take the time to develop & nurture who they are- their mind and personality, but their bodies, their personal taste, the unique difference of each sex. They believe in long term investment in individuals, not the fast buck.
American children are raised with incredible freedom to allow the full potential of a human’s possibility to emerge. French children are raised in extremely strict and rigid society of rules. The irony is seen by the statistically high levels of low self-esteem in American culture reflected by the billion dollar fashion, beauty and plastic surgery industry. By encouraging only the single goal of the "superior" mind & intellect, discouraging development of the "weak" soul and physical body, Americans build their personal foundation on sand, of the immediate now. With no long term skills or values they become a member of the flock in order to supplement what is missing, merely to exist.
Meanwhile the French are fiercely independent and self confident in who they are, what their roles are and cultivate taste. Their emphasis is that the mind, the body and soul must work together to create a unified whole. Equal time must be dedicated to each for the end product to be complete, to be productive member of society.
Hundreds of generations have proven that teamwork is more fruitful, even American business have embraced this mentality whole heartedly. Why have they not applied it to the other areas of society and life? Because Americans are blinded by their own ability to specialize. The fast buck, the first one to cross the finish line.
But who really, is the winner?
You must learn to be a child again.
The intangible reality of a context, a society whose variables are in the hundreds per second… you can’t prepare. You must dive blindly in. Over your head, the multitude of what you must learn is enormous. Assumption and routine become your worst enemy as your adventure evolves into a battle, a race to the death with your very survival at stake.
In a way, the Ultimate Game. "If I could only do it all again knowing what I know about life now". Turn back the clock... No context, no predictable responses, to rely only on your senses, your instinct, the NOW. The greatest risk, can your mind make that stretch? There is no re-start button.
A small tug in my stomach, far in the back of my brain a trapdoor flips open for a moment… To fantasize is one thing, to play it out in real life, is a scary plunge into the unknown, the reckless, the chaos.
Precisely what children do all the time.
You begin to wonder, as I grow older and gain fluency in the complexity of society, do I lose my inherent, natural skills to exist? Is social hierarchy actually on its head, with the top being a child spiraling down to the elderly? The gain toward adulthood in theory, doubt and experience actually muddling that which was concentrate and clear when a child. We weaken our own ability to exist in life, becoming an addict of society.
Then let the games begin.
Same bright, harsh florescent lights bathe my skin a swallow yellow as I follow the linoleum squares to the Aisle. Rows and shelves of shiny, pristine, brand new packages eagerly waiting to be taken home.
Yet this is not just any Aisle.
All the items in this aisle are devoid of gaudy trappings packaged instead for your health- no alcohol, no fake scents or fake coloring. Lines and lines of text replace fancy 4 color graphics.
The incredible delight (and relief) in no longer having to hunt for days to find a single product as I used to... ALL the products here are formulated the way I prefer, for my convenience for a change. Now if I could just read what they are used for...
Pure adrenaline floods through the body, at the edge of exhaustion the mind sits wrapped within cotton webbing. With each step your body revebrates, it's multiple layers unhinged, snapping back to a solid state only at the last moment. Pulled through the time warp of existence, your body is both here and there at the same time, you become a holographic image. All sensations are numbed except for a solitary desire.
Sleep.
Stone dead sleep in which you awake many, many hours later unaware that you fell asleep. The sudden sensation of clarity, speech and the ability to think.
The day of arrival.
The dawning of the Sun.
The sandy shores of the clouds below, marked by the riptides of the winds.
We are flying above the sky, between Heaven and Earth. As I leave one culture to begin anew in another, I belong to neither. I am something just outside, separate. The rush and pain of meeting a deadline, reaching, stretching... failure. Time out, no solution, yet the world continues on…
Fragments of possessions fade into the tide of memories, did they really exist? A day feels an eternity in the past, the future a distant dream... shape-shifting of the present.
As I look out the window, I realize that time, life, knowledge, reality is liquid.