Author: Jill Robinson

I arrived in Paris before the first streaks of sunlight shone through  dawn. I had carefully balance all three of my suitcases on the trolley before setting off to locate the welcoming crew. The idea of me living in Paris for the next four year hasn’t quit hit me. Driving into the city, I still couldn’t quite believe this city was about to become my home. I had envisioned this moment various times before, but when the reality came, it was overwhelming. Walking into my university’s prestine building excited me. These classrooms will become the places where I will invest time into learning more about my world in ways I have yet to imagine. As my taxi driver drove me to my apartment, I couldn’t help but catch a glimpse of the tower. She’s more beautiful as she’s peeking out of the buildings that guard her.  

 My taxi driver was impressed with my French as we chatted as to why women are sometimes more powerful and commanding in politics. He guessed Spanish before American native so that’s a win for me. 

 My legs shook as I dragged my 70lb suitcase up three flights of stairs. No elevator of course. It just so happens to be one of those rare 90 degrees Fahrenheit days in Paris, so I am one sweaty mess as I reach my apartment and embrace my first roommate Riko. What better way to start out the year with a smelly hug. After a cold shower I begin the process of unpacking, which is quite the challenge when you have limited space, but someone bless Ikea storage units.  

  I think I’ll take this tiny space over a dorm any day. I’m so excited to share this apartment with you all. It is a perfect example of living simply and making the most of everything. I think I would be just fine in a small kitchen for the rest of my life.  
 At the end of the kitchen is the humble toilet which deems the term “water closet” as a very true description. 

The living room is full of life as light reflects off the green trees and neighboring buildings in the morning and the setting sun shines its last rays into our place. This room is everything I thought it to be with its white curtains and embellished ceiling.  

After meeting our last apartment-mate Halie (who sprang into the shower like me because we both endured a long day of flying from the states), we decided to hit the town and finish.  Without our metropasses, we decided to take a walk, somewhere towards the Eiffel Tower but we didn’t make it all the way because we got lost and hungry. Since it was a Sunday and very few shops where open, we decided to go into the very first cafe we spotted. We barely scratched at the surface of the city with our promenade, so I’m very excited to begin learning this city like its the back of my hand.  

I decided I wanted to wait awhile to describe my first impression of school. It would give me time to find a routine and know exactly what to tell you all. But even at two weeks in, each day is a new challenge. Constantly working twice as hard is exhausting, especially when the school life here is completely opposite to what you’ve known you’re whole life.
My schedule is not set up daily, but weekly, where each day is different from the next. So one day I’ll have math French, physics, and the next I’ll have biology, Spanish, English, history. I also have one day of P.E. per week, which is held outside, regardless of rain, wind, or snow. Lunch is an hour and a half, and for the first time, I’m eating cafeteria food. Well, the French know how to eat so I never go hungry at school.

One of the most difficult things about school is how long the days are, I get home from school around 6pm. Some classes last for two hours without breaks while others for a full hour. There are thirty four students in my class, and we all the same schedule, so it made it easier to make friends and connections. It’s nice to have a group of friends to sit with at lunch and to have people to partner up with in class. I’ve been very fortunate to have found a great group of friends, who are willingly to help me around. Because there is no one else I can count on to show me where my classes are or where the cafeteria is. I was very surprised when no one from administration wanted to help me, they just gave me my schedule and shoved me out the door. It seemed like they didn’t realize I’m a student from another part of the world who has no idea what is going on and needs a little help to get around. At Mesa Prep, each new student recieves a mentor, someone that helps them ease their way into a new school life. And on the first day of school, I wished very much for a mentor, who knew what was going on. I was a mentor last year, and now I fully realize the importance of having someone show you around, help you understand the flow of the school, and be there for you whenever you are completely lost. No one was there for me on the first day of school. I tried my hardest to hold back tears, and after a few second of self pity, I came back to the Sofia I knew who could make it through this semester, even without a mentor. I told myself I’ve made it this far, and I’m not turning back.
On the first day of school, my name wasn’t on any school record. Apparently last year there was a different principal and my paperwork didn’t get transferred to the new administration so I didn’t exist in any classes at Lycée Marcel Rudloff. The woman in charge of students’ paperwork placed me in a class with the least amount of student. In France, the students are divided based on what they will study after high school. There’s a group where they focus more on literature and arts, the section I was supposed to be in because it’s an easier course. But now, for the next seventeen week, I will be in the harder course where the focus is more on sciences and mathematics, for the students who want to become engineers, doctors, scientist, etc. I have no problem with that, I personally love science, but when it’s in a different language and the teachers explain things so fasts that even the students who do speak French can’t grasp a concept, it’s a challenge. First off, the teachers don’t write notes on the boards or have nice power points with pictures for you. They will stand (or sit) at the front and lecture, and you, as a student, are obliged to take notes. I try my best to follow along, but my brain, as of right now, can only to try and keep up with teacher’s sentences, let alone write all the new vocabulary in my notes. It’s only the first two weeks, but I’m pretty happy to know I understand a lot of the material, more than I thought I would. I can listen to a lecture and learn new vocabulary based off the context, but as of right now, I feel my level of French is not advanced enough to explain how canonic form works in math. But I’m pretty excited to see where I will be at the end of the semester. Sometimes I sit in class and think, “Wow, everything around me is in French. My teacher is explaining the way light travels through a lenses in French, and I understand what he’s saying. Do you know how blessed you are to have this opportunity?” Yes it’s hard, but that just proves what kind of person I am. And who I will become. I’ve given up so much to be here, so let’s see how much I can take from here to make up for it. This experience will be worth all my friends’ football/volleyball games I couldn’t watch, birthdays I’ve missed, the holidays with my family. I want this experience to make me a stronger person, to become a better person for them. To become a better person for myself. I don’t deserve this, but it’s happening, and I’m going to make the most out of it.

“Click here to apply for a student visa if you are staying in France for more than three months”

That’s when it hit me. Sof needs a visa because she is staying in France for a long time, Sof is going to France. Next thing I know, I’m in LA, outside the French embassy waiting for my turn in.

The security guard inside was from the Congo. Sweet old man, who joked with my mom and I while he went through some paperwork. I really liked him! I find there are fewer and fewer strangers who are respectful and polite, and even fewer willing to keep a conversation with you. When I converse with a stranger, I do my best to always have a smile on my face, because one tends to remember the positive experiences one’s had before with a complete stranger. I want to make sure I’m remember in a similar manner. Simply because we never know what that person is going through, maybe you’re the only positive form of life they’ve seen all day! And so my mom and I chatted with Monsieur Congo and his thick, rich accent.

I will never forget how much paper work we went through for that visa. We had to make sure every original document had a copy and not a single page was missing or else I would need to reschedule my appointment and thus never make it onto my flight for Paris. After my finger prints were scanned and a mug shot was taken, we sighed a breath of relief. All that was left was to pack!