Thailand took on an unexpected twist 10 days before our flight left Paris. I get this panicked call from Robin during his weekly soccer game because some overexcited teammate of his (these guys all play with the aggressiveness of pro players, but with the skills of complete beginners), had sidelined him during the game and he twisted his ankle. He’s explaining to me that he can’t put any weight on it, it’s swelled to three times it’s normal size and he’s in excruciating pain. I’ll admit that my first thought sounded a bit like “you’ve got to be f*cking sh*tting me! We for sure didn’t check that travel insurance box so cancelling is really not an option. What’s the name of this Cristiano Ronaldo wannabe that ran you over?” But I managed to suppress my urge to rant and instead muttered something more along the lines of ” oh no honey, I’m so sorry. Do you want me to meet you at the emergency room?”
I’m not going to pretend that Pierre just disappeared from my life when we broke up. The term “ghosting” is a literal mind blower for me. I never managed to stop communicating with an ex cold turkey and I don’t have any friends that have personally accomplished that one either. If you’re one of the few special unicorns out there that have done it, serious kudos to you. It usually took me hundreds of failed girls nights out, drunken late night phone calls to said ex and some sloppy revenge kisses in bars to cut off most communication. So while Pierre was still darting in and out of my life depending on my mental state of mind and my sobriety, I was officially single in 2010. I set two personal goals for myself. Stick it out in Scotland for as long as I financially could and move to France as soon as I was accepted to the TAPIF program.
Some of the so called plans I had in Shipped off to France Part 1 like changing majors, finishing school early, moving to Europe etc.., actually did happen, much to the astonishment of many friends and family. We all know that love can make you do absolutely bat shit crazy things, so I wasn’t even phased when I took on 24 credit hours for two semesters. This consequently meant moving to the library permanently, changing to a liquid diet of energy drinks to stay awake (Monster anyone?), and living in old sweatpants with my greasy hair hidden under a baseball cap. To be honest, sweatpants and greasy hair is kind of the uniform of college kids in the Midwest, so I probably shouldn’t consider that a consequence of the double workload. Continue reading “2 | Shipped Off To Scotland”
Before I dive into the subject, I partnered up with my friend Rosie, who hosts an amazing Youtube channel, Not Even French! We discussed this same topic in her video below. Don’t hesitate to check it out along with this article! Feel free to comment and let us know what you think as well as checking out some of her other videos about a Kiwi living in Paris!
I was born in Minnesota surrounded by cornfields, smiling strangers and hundreds of different fast food chains. My childhood was a short chapter out of the American Dream pamphlet. By the time I headed off to college I was the stereotypical American that only the good ol’ Midwest could produce. I was sporty, patriotic, polite to a fault and incredibly positive with a toothy white Colgate smile that only years of braces and dentist trips could create. I had also never traveled outside of the US, lacked any in depth knowledge about history and geography, and my idea of an extravagant culinary delight was a new flavor of milkshake at Steak n’ Shake.