First week in France, language, football and staying in the present

22/10 - Since arriving in Cherbourg on Wednesday, I've had ideas for writing topics. The ideas stewed in my head, ready to be put into words. But when my fingers touched keyboard, kind of like right now, there isn't a hot, burning desire to complete the task. I run into a wall, and the effort of reaching that particular summit just hasn't been worth the effort lately. It's not because I'm depressed. No. I think it's less complex than that.

The move to Cherbourg simply hasn't been that exciting.

Cherbourg is basically the French version of Poole, England, my old home. I live shockingly close to the oceanfront and the harbor. I am within walking distance to grocery stores, museums, parks, soccer stadiums, outlet stores and an indoor swimming pool. The weather is just like Poole, in that it may rain in the morning and be sunny the rest of the day, or vice versa. I also expect the ground to be frozen solid in the winter like it was in Poole and Bournemouth.

And, of course, I live within walking distance to the ferry that connects to Poole.

The fans at the A.S. Cherbourg soccer game on Saturday night were dressed similarly to British chavs (think tracksuits), and they sang the same, unimaginative song repeatedly throughout the contest, until Cherbourg won 2-1. However, French fans seem to be more physically fit and easier on the eyes than the British.

There are plenty of shops, restaurants and cafes in the center of the town, and there is a farmers market on Tuesdays. Just take a seat at the "big fountain" and do some people watching. Just like in Poole, you'll see some seedy people.

The only major difference is the fact French is the primary language here. Therein lies the challenge of living in Cherbourg for a non-French speaker like me. For the first time in my life, I really am foreign. I'm living in a place where I don't speak the language, and that immediately separates me from most of the people here. I feel different, like another species. In some ways, I feel separated from the rest of this society because of my lack of proficient ability to communicate effectively.

Having said that, I have not once felt the kind of anxiety and discomfort I felt during those first few days in Poole, overwhelmed of the fact I now had a student loan to worry about and had uprooted myself so completely. I have not had that distressing what-the-fuck-have-I-done feeling. In fact, Cherbourg feels like home already. My jetlag dissipated quickly, and the loft in which I sleep, under two skylights, is delightfully comfortable. I already know more French today than I did last week.

Though I know more French already, I am still highly uncomfortable and awkward when speaking it. It is much more difficult to speak than Spanish, and there's a part of me that doesn't wish to butcher this complex yet beautiful tongue. This is because, in my opinion, Spanish words are read and pronounced similar to English words, and the sounds of the alphabet are relatively similar; in other words, when we read words in the two languages or speak them, we already know how the letters sound by themselves and how they combine to make a word. Not so in French.

Earlier this week I lost my cool simply trying to tell a grocery store clerk, "Je ne parlais pa Francais bien." In English, "I don't speak French well." I got flustered and felt shame afterward. But, in the days afterward I relaxed and do not feel as flustered to say a simple sentence in my third language.

This is my street. Rue Emmanuel Liais.

26/10 - I am still having trouble finding inspiration to write. I feel like Spiderman when he realized that just because he has superpowers doesn't mean he has to force everything else in his life to the side for the sake of fighting crime. He noticed his powers fading, most likely because he didn't have a passion for it, at the moment.

I took a step back with the blog because the passion isn't there at the moment. But, I have confidence that it will return, just like Spiderman's did. 

Perhaps it's because I'd rather not write about unspectacular, mundane, everyday events such as exploring my city, having coffee with friends or visiting the indoor swimming pool a few blocks away from me. Granted, that pool is incredible. It is on the second floor and has glass walls which have views of the harbor and the city, and the water is completely clear and has a proper depth. 

Writing about the pool, I am also obligated to write about the style of swim trunks I am required to wear. In France, trunks are short and tight...not quite "budgie smugglers" as they say in Australia, but so short that they remind me of short boxer-briefs. A pool official approached me after entering the pool in basketball shorts, and she informed me that next time I need trunks. But I digress. 

I do, however, want to write about philosophy. After discussion with friends and more reflection, I have realized that I am in Cherbourg for a reason. This is where I am supposed to be; it is no fluke. I cannot change that fact. It is futile to attempt to understand why I'm here. The simple truth is that I just am, and we are hopeless in an attempt to control what happens to us in life. We are careening along through life, powerless to the chaos of the unknown future. 

If we spend too much time attempting to understand why something happened in the past, we forget to live here and now. The act of comparison between one's own decisions and another person's actually hollows one's own situation. We made those decisions for a reason, and the only thing we can do is to simply accept that fact and move forward into the future. The past should stay in the past. 

So, I live in France. It doesn't matter why I'm here or how I got to this point; that information is irrelevant. What matters is simply that I'm here, right here, right now.