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.)
T-minus 43 days until I leave the United States for eight months. In approximately a month and a half I will meet the family I have been corresponding with and the 67 other students from across the country who all have set their sights on becoming students of France’s culture. Further drawing attention to this fact is the creation of many platforms begging interaction with those who will eventually become my classmates. Email chains have surfaced polling opinions about the custom shirt that would tell our class’ year and that we are students of School Year Abroad. A Facebook group has materialized harmlessly inviting us all to investigate those we would be sharing a classroom with in the months to come. Meanwhile, the time I spend here at the University of Connecticut to study memory development and retention feels like a trial run of what is to come. Like as is to be expected in France, my everyday life in Atlanta feels far, far away. I am having to strike a balance between maintaining ties to those I care about back home and loosening my grip to the degree that I am able to partake fully in what happens here and create new relationships that I value just as highly. Everyday for the past two weeks I have trekked a mile to the bowels of the psychology building from “Buzby suites”, some days a bit grouchily due to waking at 6:30 AM. I’ve found the results to be worth any mild inconveniences. I know much more about the brain than I knew when first entering this program, and through simple observation of the movements of the undergraduate students I have learned what it means to be a part of a team dedicated to extracting a logic from the innumerable unknowns that characterize the mechanisms of the human mind. Research is highly demanding. The integrity of the experiment must be closely maintained. In one experiment we train the rats to find a platform in a water maze in hopes of gleaning insights about the functionality of different areas of the brain in relation to memory. Tending to the controls means that you must ensure you have no external factors that could possibly assist the rats in finding the exit to the maze outside of the visual cues(the colorful posters promoting the role of animal testing in medicine) posted outside of it. Each rat must be handled delicately to ensure they are calm as they enter the water. Just as importantly, you must be silent as they complete the task to make sure they do not simply swim towards your voice in hopes of being removed from the water by the person who placed them in the uncomfortable liquid that slicks their fur. Though running this experiment everyday can after some time begin to feel monotonous (it is a four hour process), seeing the logic emerge from the massive amount of data gathered is worthwhile. And just for kicks here is a picture of my favorite piece from the Ballard Arts Museum, which I had the opportunity to visit one day after class.The beginning of the Vietnam War caused a rift among the people as the question arose of whether international policing should fall under the United States' purview. Young people found themselves subject to propaganda encouraging them to get on the bandwagon. After all, it was them, the youth, who would compose the armed forces and uphold democracy. Art provided a platform for the young to express their opinions. This piece made a particularly daring statement in a manner different than any I have before seen employed. War was not the answer. If you thought it was, you may as well be a eunuch who has no qualms trampling children underfoot because you basically were not a real man. I felt it was worth sharing. And this place by no means is all work and no play. I am after all in Connecticut, home of the highly acclaimed “Dairy Bar” where the ice cream produced comes from the university’s very own cows. At long last I had the chance to visit these cows today. This ice cream straight from the utter is indeed so fresh that it’s illegal to sell it any place besides on university grounds. I took a picture with one of these cows because why not? How many licks does it take to get to the Tootsie Roll the center of a Tootsie Pop? I don’t know exactly. However, I did learn this week that if there were ever to be a genetically concocted hybrid dinosaur secretly backed by the Navy, scientists would name said animal the “Indominus Rex” in place of a name that small children would struggle to pronounce. You learn something new everyday. Thank you movie makers of Jurassic World for informing me of this. All in all, the days since I have boarded the plane here have passed both very quickly and exaggeratedly slowly. For up to seven hours everyday I am in class, which is a wonder world where my imagination runs free. We study memory development, the first step being to teach the rats we observe how to complete complex tasks. Then, we use the technology at our disposal to observe which sectors of the hippocampus (the brain’s memory center) are most heavily utilized when they access the memories that would guide them in completion of tasks. Free time, which is interspersed between the classes, the evening meeting, and dinner composes a large portion of the day. With so many other students in the immediate proximity, I find that the options are limitless, in spite of there being an absence of the sort of attractions you would find in Atlanta. There is no public transportation, and there is no mall that has more than maybe 12 small stores. There is however a dairy farm within walking distance where the university produces ice cream so fresh it can’t be sold off campus. Because the program consists of 46 students in total, we all pile onto one bus and go on fieldtrips together, this week to the bowling alley and movie theatre and next week to a location yet to be unveiled. I am one of only two students working at my site "Do You Remember When We Used To...?"- Memory Formation & the Brain" along with five undergraduates, a graduate student, and a professor. Departing for this educational opportunity, I felt a nagging anxiety unlike anything I typically experience before leaving home. Though I love my family and friends and Atlanta, I also love the personal strides I make whenever I have the chance to study intensively away from them. I love recovering from the initial queasiness you feel to find that though you rely so heavily on the familiar at home, you have the capacity to navigate a new environment without it. Home always will be home, and like a bird always returns to its nest, you always will find your way back. Perhaps flying, literally or figuratively (however you wanna take that one) could be just as fulfilling at times as nesting. It means that upon your return you have obtained something new to give. "Down" pour certains français ? Cliquez below. ("Down" for some french? Cliquez ci-dessous.) Tomorrow marks the beginning of a new week and also the beginning of a new experience. I will be boarding a plane to Tweed Bradley International Airport to take a course in memory retention at the University of Connecticut. Friday I bid adieu the robotics summer camp where I had been working the past six weeks in hopes of gaining a financial foothold for the year to come. Though I knew the date of this goodbye and was acutely aware of its increasing proximity as the time ticked away, I still found myself under swept by an immense conglomeration of emotions in the last few hours of the work day. The number of campers had steadily dwindled since the 4th of July, as families left town and scholars who’d split their summer between our camp and other interests switched over to pursue different endeavors. This meant I had grown quite accustomed to saying “so long”, in some cases to individuals who I perhaps would never see again. However, my own goodbye demanded an emotional fortitude beyond what I was able to give, as it was to everyone I had come to know in my time as a counselor rather than to just a single person. I found myself wanting to shed tears but was reminded of a quote from the infinitely wise Dr. Seuss: “Don’t cry because it’s over. Smile because it happened.” If I were to make a highlights reel of past 6 weeks, there would be no shortage of scenes to include, from hearing kids as young as eight years old confess to me their desires to build creations that would change the world to learning how to construct a functional robot myself to bonding with other counselors and students who each touched my heart in ways I had not anticipated. “Adieu” translates directly to “farewell”. This has a bit of a permanent ring to it that does not accurately align with the circumstances by which I depart. “See you” feels more precise, as when you connect with someone, you are tethered by more than just your shared experience. Your interests are now linked as well, as you care for one another. Distance, though in some cases urging feelings of fondness to nothing, is powerless when you care about someone to the extent that you are willing to make the efforts necessary to keep in touch with them. I can only hope that my time at UConn creates relationships that I value as highly as the ones I made at the Summer of Innovation and Invention, and I eagerly anticipate diving into the enigma that is the human mind, as its many secrets have always captivated me. And in other news, I today was informed of my host family’s identity in Rennes, France. They are the Davids. I have a sister. She is one month my senior and is also a junior in high school. She too has signed up for an immersion experience and is currently in England. Living elsewhere, I have two older siblings, a brother and sister, who have each begun families of their own, and I now have an additional mother and father as well. When I saw the email from them in my inbox introducing themselves to me, I released a shriek of excitement. I for eight months will say “so long” to my blood family, but in the meantime I say hello to another. Loosening your grip on what you know to incorporate something new in your life can feel daunting. However, when I have been challenged to do so in the past, it always felt like the right choice. I ended up a better person because of it. I look forward to our correspondences in the month to come and hope that I can bring something to the family that in some way repays the kindness they have shown me in opening their home. Vouloir entendre le post d'aujourd'hui en français ? Appuyez sur jeu . (Want to hear today's post in french? Press play.)
Yesterday many Americans stood craning their necks as they gazed at bright combustions of volatile particles off in the distance. Though for many this gazing experience was laced slightly with fear (of being pelted with falling debris, of the noise, that one of the many children scrambling around might hurt themselves), there also was an uncommon awe. People stood mesmerized, all gathered for the same reason and staring fixedly at what would not occur again until New Years. Yesterday was Independence Day. It held a special significance for me as I have been away from home the last two years when this time rolled around. Independence day to me translates to a time of ideals. It commemorates an instance when the underdog won, and everyone’s lives changed for the better (everyone who wasn’t enslaved that is, but I’ll save that for another time). We parallel that with another shocking deviation from the norm, fireworks. Both institutions and independents lend a hand to create the continuous cacophony that reverberates across the nation every year starting around 7:00pm. Around you people young and old squeal with delight, and everyone for a few moments exists completely in sync. I believe that’s the real wonder. The French people often are credited with an abstract manner of thinking and a fascination with philosophy that trumps the nagging concerns of the everyday world. You can find the words “Regarde le Ciel” scrawled all across Paris, on doorways, in streets, on walls. This is inspired by a song released in 2013 by Aline, in which the chorus echoes “Look at the sky, it’s me the king, I’m crazy like an angel outlawed, the dump is a place where one throws little children, little children will become big and perhaps mean if they are alive.” The words shocked me, as they have a frenzied undertone but are overlaid with a soothing, nonthreatening beat. This seeming discord between the music and the message increased the words’ impact on me. The chorus voices an age old debate, and one that I think there is no definitive answer to, the sky or the ground. Occasionally, we all catch a glimpse of something in the distance that dares us to chase after it, some new experience or some person or some opportunity, that seems too good to be true. There’s a question of whether you drop everything and go, having faith in the unknown or whether you stay where you always have been. Staying would be at the expense of perhaps something incredible, but it also means you stay grounded. You aren’t swept in the whirlwind that is chasing your dreams and reaching for the impossible. Though the words of the song are a bit extreme, they depict an image of what it means to say “no” to what feels like the impossible and what it does to you. On the 4th of July, we celebrate a time when the improbable panned out. Perhaps it is worthwhile sometimes to risk it all, forget where we stand, and look at the sky. Vous voulez lire l'entrée d'aujourd'hui en français ? Cliquez ici. (Want to hear today's entry in French? Click here.)
So, I think it’s safe to say that I have sufficiently settled into summer’s groove. This is week five of freedom, that is the fifth week I’ve gone without riding beside my mother to get to school by 8:30 each morning. Each summer I find myself facing the same questions that arose the summer before. The first, am I using my time wisely? That’s a big one. You are granted only two months of summer. The rest of your time is dedicated to expanding your mind and skills in the conventional sense a.k.a. attending school. Summer is the time to do things your way. The second question, am I satisfied with my life at school? During the commotion of the year when responsibilities and deadlines seem to wax more routinely than they wane, it’s simple to find your focus fully occupied by surviving the next thing. You get things done, but sometimes in the midst of all the demands it’s easy to miss the big picture. The summer serves as an evaluation period for all that went under the radar during the year, that sometimes being your habits, your friendships, your choices. You sort of factory reset for the next year, but you’ve got to decide first what it is you are wanting to preserve versus what needs to be let go. And the third and final question, at least for me, is what am I going to do next? With what awaits on the horizon, these questions carry a greater weight than they have before. And the answers seem that much more important. Ideally, before I board the plane for France in September I’ll have gotten the chance to meet up with each of my friends at least once. I’d have had the opportunity to finish my book and teach myself code (html, python, etc). I’d have become a master at robotics and refined my French to the point where I can converse with ease. I’ll have spent ample time with my family and also saved enough through my job as a robotics counselor to avoid putting any strain on my family while I’m away. But all of this takes some time, and I find myself having to make choices. What am I willing to sacrifice? What really is important to me? The same logic carries over to questions two and three. Am I satisfied with my life at school? I’m about to leave it behind for a period of time. What do I need to make a concerted effort to hold on to? As I’m branching out and creating these new relationships and garnering these new experiences next year, how much of my time can I set aside for routine conversations with people back home and for revising stories I have written in English. If this takes away from immersion over there, how much can I prioritize before it becomes a matter of cheating myself out of the unique opportunity presented to me? And finally, there is the question of what to do next. I don’t think there’s any definitive answer. As hard as I try to deconstruct this question and read between the lines to see if God or fate is dropping any hints, it seems I always end up stumbling around and letting things unfold for themselves. Whether or not this is positive, I cannot say. Going away means I have a clean slate. But I want to make sure that I am living in such a way that when I have reached the halfway point of summer 2016, I can say I made the right choices. Only time will tell. This entry has been more of a stream of consciousness post, so thanks for bearing with me. Wanna hear today's entry in French?? Click below. Let’s talk about this song that has been in my head since day 1 of this week, “Do You?” by Neyo. My fixation began Sunday with me humming its tune on a loop, pawing for the words but finding myself completely incapable of recalling them. I must admit that even as I sat in the pews of church this song jostled for space among my thoughts as the minister paced back and forth along the stage. In the next couple days I pestered everyone around about whether they recognized what I was humming, and with no luck I even resorted to stringing together words that felt as though they matched the spirit of the song. Eventually, I found the right ones: “I just wonder. Do you ever? Think of me? Anymore? Do you? Buum, buum, boom, boom, dodo, bum, dum, do” I remembered the chorus, the little piece of the song that with access to Google’s divine wisdom would lead me to the treasure trove. Why am I obsessed with a song from 2007? Full disclosure, I tend to have a belated awareness of cultural phenomenon, whether that be dance, songs, or the latest vine sensation. However, when I discover something I enjoy, I fully immerse myself in it, sometimes to the point where I am nearly sick of it even. I’ve come to notice that the movies I especially adore or stories that most speak to me are not those that most closely reflect my own life. Often, they will have elements that are unlike anything I have yet to experience, but its the emotion that spurs from that experience that I’m able to relate to and appreciate. There’s something poignant about hearing a piece of someone’s story and realizing that you’ve got no common ground in any obvious way but have both found yourselves in this place where where you share an understanding that others may never acquire. You both took different paths, but you got there. And that’s where my obsession with this song lies. I’ve never ended a romantic relationship with someone to find that I want them back. But I can understand seeing your path diverge from someone you care about and being curious of if that’s really the best thing. I’ve driven my family nearly insane as I tromped through the house singing this song, and I’ve forced everyone unfortunate enough to be in my immediate presence to listen to it on my phone. As a continuation of that trend, I am now spamming your devices with my borderline obsessive adoration. Please know that I do it with love. One of my goals for the upcoming school year is to increase my awareness of trending music and other noteworthy stimuli I stumble upon in day to day life. My time abroad will be impactful but also not infinite. So while away, I want to be intentional about taking note of all that moves me and further pursuing that which touches my heart. This will enable me to seek these things out again when the time is right, and perhaps in learning more about the world through different media such as song, I will continue to learn more about myself. Last week I promised to inform you all of my mother’s progress in the election. She ran for State House of Representatives, and Tuesday brought in the results. She unfortunately lost, but I must say that the experience gave all of us quite a few cherished memories. My brother and I even named the campaign manager’s son an honorary Brown. And if ever she runs again, we will be more than happy to give it our all, this time armed with the knowledge acquired from running in the race this time. Wanna hear today's entry in French? 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 |