There is a notion I’ve noticed among my peers of study abroad, both in Aix and simply around: the desire to disassociate from the United States. We swear by the lifestyle of the European communities that have adopted us, we attempt to speak quietly or in another language, and hide those things that make us so American. The realized dream of studying abroad encourages us to look harder at all that we have left behind, and all that we have brought with us. Separated from our responsibilities, enabled to reap all the benefits (often) without dealing with the bureaucracy or social ills, there is the temptation to demonize the United States; our value system, our food products, our tone of voice.
Perhaps it is the American Studies major in me, but I have no desire to disassociate myself from the star spangled banner.
That is not to say that there will not be things I miss when I return home; I will entirely miss my fresh bread, and walking through centuries of history on my way to class. Should I give birth while being a working woman in the states, I will think with jealousy of my European peers and their maternity leave, as I already do with their nearly and/or free college educations. It is also not to say that I have ignored all local customs and traditions in favor of my native ones, nor that I advocate for such behavior.
It is simply to say that the United States of America is not just a wasteland of corruption and pesticides. Neither my beloved France nor my homeland are perfect entities, and, as with anything problematic in this world, the value may still be extracted when contextualization is applied.
Being American means I am loud. I am passionate. I hug my friends when I see them, and I smile at strangers on the street. I could pet the dogs of people I’ve never met all day, and I can barely contain myself from putting on a show when, really, any song I know comes on the radio or speakers of a store. I wear whatever color I feel like, and I have been raised in a country that has encouraged my unique voice to be raised whenever I please.
This is not to speak for everyone. I had a nearly idyllic, entirely privileged upbringing, and the US told me as it has not told every one of it’s citizens that I can be (nearly) anything I choose. Being so far from home for so long with minimal responsibilities and seemingly endless opportunities, the most important thing I took through every uncomfortable situation, broken French conversation, excruciatingly early flight, and wonderful memory was myself.
I am my constant in life. And so I learned about myself through all the ways I got by in less than ideal situations this semester. I struggled in the attempt to fit into French society, and I realized that not only was this an impossible dream, but one I did not want to pursue. So much of who I am is because I am a loud, obnoxious, happy American. And I love that about myself. I love France and will miss it dearly, but I could never fully turn my back on my (imperfect) homeland, because it made me who I am. And I trust myself, and I am proud of myself. I learned to fly.
Emily Sakowitz 