A memento from Metro PCS
Now only 18 days remain until I board a plane for France. The house has been in a bit of of a stir the past couple days, as we’ve scrambled to cross off some of the action steps I inscribed in the list I posted with my very first blog entry. Step 1: get a passport Step 2: figure out what classes I’m going to take Step 3: determine how I’m going to make money Step 4: figure out how to hail a taxi in french So, three of those steps have been completed thus far. I have acquired a passport. I worked over the summer as a robotics counselor to store some funds for my trip. In hopes of covering some of the deficit between what I have already earned and what will be spent I created a go fund me page: www.gofundme.com/ibelievejolisacan . Step 4 feels less relevant than I’d initially anticipated, as I would primarily rely on public transportation once in France to go to and from. If any of you are curious, to get a taxi driver’s attention I would locate any of a number of “taxi ranks”, which are a sort of congregation point specifically created so that potential passengers could find a taxi and step into the first one that pulls up. I’ll learn more about what classes I will be taking in the weeks to come. What has left us scrambling is a supplement to step 1 that is just as crucial, the visa. My passport arrived during the time that I was studying at UConn. In order to apply for a visa, I needed to and present my visa as identification and appear in person at the Atlanta French Consulate Office. So for the four weeks that I was away, I couldn’t begin the process to obtain this document that would grant me entry into the nation of France. Friday we found ourselves at the consulate office to get the visa, manila folder in hand brimming with the miscellaneous documents required to get a visa. We spent two hours there to be told we’d need to return with a couple other forms we had yet to procure. On tomorrow we will be going back to the office. Meanwhile, I am having to start figuring out the answer to some smaller questions that are essential to my being squared away in France. How many suitcases will I pack, one or two? How will I be communicating with my family when away? International calling rates are obscene, so presumably I would need to get service with a French network and maintain contact through skype. Will my bank cards work once over there? And then there is the question of what to do with the less than three weeks I have remaining in this country. The most obvious answer is to spend time with family. I also would like to get my license before I leave and extend my thanks to organizations that I have formed relationships with. This week I’ve been trying to make the most of the little time I have. My father and I watched the Perseid meteor shower Tuesday night, only the cacophony of crickets competing with our voices in the quiet. My mother, brother, and I went to a Falcons game. My brother fell asleep with his arms pulled inside of his jacket, but it was a moment I’ll hold onto in the months to come. I had the opportunity to see rap icon J. Cole in concert with my cousin. The chorus of one of his songs poses the same question over and over, “Do you wanna be happy?” , which incites the consideration of a different question altogether: “What will make you happy?” Speaking about having such little time left sounds vaguely reminiscent of a person on their death bed and suddenly deeming that they must capitalize on every moment. No, I am not dying, but I have a different perspective concerning the days left, as when I return much will have changed. I no longer will be the same person. My family and friends will have had almost a year of experiences that shaped them into someone different than those that will have lived on in my memory, and my world and community as I am leaving it now will not exist in the same state. So, while I am here, I aim to make sure I have not neglected even a single aspect of this community, and when I return I will love it all the more with all the changes it has made. D'entendre en Francais, cliquez ici (To hear in French click here). They say that every new experience you have sculpts you, and every person contributes a new element to your own personality. They say that you are an amalgamation of all you have been through. Experiences that stray from what you are accustomed to induce the appearance of a new trait or perhaps refine what had always been there but didn’t have much utility in the place you were before. I could not agree more. A few days prior to my leaving the University of Connecticut and saying goodbye to my mentors for what may be the final time, I asked a friend about the difference between being intelligent and knowledgeable, as we were both surrounded by an abundance of information and standing as witnesses as in the very labs where we worked old theories about the brain or nuclear physics were overturned. I wondered which of the two was most vital to becoming wise. I’m still not sure that I can speak definitively either way. I saw my first sunrise. I walked to breakfast through a leafy expanse every morning to see family of deer poking their heads out from the mist in the 7am quiet. I napped in the shadow of baby trees that protected me from the sun’s rays while still allowing me to partake in its warmth. I handled and fed rats to find that they are adorable little creatures, even though they have the tendency to nibble your fingers. I obtained a greater amount of knowledge than I even hoped for. Beyond learning about the mechanisms of the brain and the nervous system, I learned what is entailed in pursuing a degree, outside of solely the academic elements; for example the logistics of visiting home, plotting an academic course that may keep you in the intermediate space between college and a job of your dreams for three years even after 8 years in school, what it means to be a member of greek life, and the struggles involved in being largely self-reliant. I acted as a member of a cohesive team working together to find answers, so I went in to the lab much earlier than I needed to and left later than was required. The hours spent enclosed in a room together and away from the sun’s rays ultimately made us all really close, and the professional respect soon was laced with camaraderie as well. I believe my mentors to be not only remarkably intelligent but also admirable people. Because of the time I spent with them I am changed. Maybe wisdom is the intersection of knowledge and intellect. Experiences that expand your worldview and capacity to reason yield intelligence. Information learned through studying and deliberate exposure to individuals who know more than you gives knowledge. Both bring you that much closer to one day becoming wise and contributing to the bank of knowledge collectively maintained with every new addition to the human race. So this post was something different. It’s an example of a writing exercise called “one word”. What you write should in theory largely revolve around the word you chose. As I have had so many positive experiences in these four weeks, I figured this entry could be more of an introspective reflection. I hope you liked it. Voulons-vous d'écouter en français? Vous savez ce que vous devez faire. ( Want to listen in french? You know what you should do. )
Speaking of other deja vus, this is not the first time I have found myself contemplating a goodbye that seems too rapidly approaching. A short three weeks ago I exited an airplane’s umbilical at Bradley International Airport. I was picked up in the personal vehicle of one of the counselors here who I have come to know well. I was well aware as I slid over her hiking supplies and decorated flower pots to make room in the trunk for my carry-on that I would have four weeks to absorb everything Connecticut had to offer. I knew that I would have four weeks to prove to myself that I am equipped to fend for myself and navigate a new environment with my parents and friends nowhere near. Yet still, the program’s conclusion has caught me by surprise. The end of week three creeped up on me. Feeling as though I have been here for closer to three months, I must acknowledge that this experience is coming to a close. Today is the first of the month, but not the first time you have seen one of the images posted with today’s entry. I’ll let that marinate. Time for me has never behaved regularly. Always it has lagged behind, questioning the clock’s hands that assure me and the rest of the world that existence cannot have paused. Moments feel like minutes and minutes like hours. By the same token, hours can dissipate in the heat as I walk to get lunch but find myself lounging in the grass beside the lake or inside the campus bookstore leafing through a French to English dictionary. So yet again I am left scratching my head and wondering where the time has gone. Just yesterday I bid adeau the robotics campers I had grown to love, but somehow I have been here at the University of Connecticut for a quarter of a year as well. And it is to these people that have offered me so much that I must say goodbye. A little town with no major shopping center taught me that you can have fun without going to see a movie or see a magic act in the busiest part of town. You can stargaze instead or hike along a path with grass that rises to the height of your shoulders on either side. You can play volleyball on a sand court to take advantage of a particularly cool day. You can walk out to the nearest barn and let a cow lick your hand in order to learn that its tongue feels like a Brillo pad, especially scruffy. You can do all that and realize that there still is so much more you haven’t seen, too much perhaps for you to fit into a week of exploration. But I have come to learn that if I fail to try I fail myself. So, in the morning I will rise at 4 along with a couple pals to watch the sun rise. After all Charlie’s Angels never sleep. We always are on call, should adventure be in need of help or a boundary seek to be pushed. Vous voulez l'entrée de vous lire ? Cliquez ci-dessus. (Want the entry read to you? Click above.)
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May 2016
AuthorJolisa Brown hails from Atlanta, Georgia. This is her first attempt at a blog, but she hopes everyone enjoys reading it as much as she enjoys writing it. Categories |