It’s hard to explain what it feels like to be thoroughly malcompris (misunderstood). I’m not sure it has so much to do with me, or the culture I come from, but really those two things are the only reason that it happens.
It’s like staring through the bars at the zoo, and you know that both you and the gorilla are, or were once, the same species, but when you try to understand each other, you respectfully find the others behavior ridiculous, unnecessary, unwarranted, and really really confusing.
Staring into the open aired cage, you could imagine the possibilities, the freedoms of the gorilla’s life. You see the ease with which he walks around, and when he smiles at you it makes your heart thump because it feels special.
I am pretty sure my life here in France will be among such gorilla’s. It’s what I wanted, I know. I remember all the reasons that made me come here. But I never meant to leave my humanness behind. I never realized I would have to.
Already I’m having to change everything in order to explain any single thing. Local food, becomes organic…being a minister becomes being a priest, studying music becomes being an expert musicienne and they want me to play guitar for them–guitar, because somehow banjo had to become guitar.
In an attempt to remember my human features, I don’t recall any tangible enough to keep me from completely giving in to their ways.
Where does this french america exist that I’ve been imagining?–I really thought I could find it here. But now I realize that that will have to be my new obsession. Mon ouvre…my work of art, will be creating that place.