I feel as though I am caught between two worlds, living a life that is neither fully French nor fully American. At home, its French, French, French all the time, and I adore it. Janine (my host mom) and I have endless conversations over morning cafés and croissants and evening dinners during which French filters in through the open windows of our apartment. Everything here is very, very French. When her children (who are all grown) come over, its as if I’ve got a glimpse into and am somewhat a part of a real, French life. I walk the streets of Paris and eavesdrop on the French that surrounds me. I drink strong espresso on café terraces and read and write for hours.

Sitting there, I discover that I am no longer purely French, as English jars its way into my life. My schoolbooks are in English, and I worry that their covers and titles give me away as an American. I try to not let this bother me, hoping I’m more “foreign” than “stereotypical American” as I order in French, sending the message that I do indeed speak more than one language. I take it for granted that I’ll read in English while here, and it doesn’t bother me. Academically, its great. I can read for pleasure in French. Then, I write. All of a sudden, something that comes so naturally to me has become a point of conflict- I don’t know what language to write in. I kept journals on my last trip to Paris, determined to write only in French in order to really immerse myself. I’ve got a moleskine and a half full of my French thoughts back home, but as I read through some of them before I left, I found them stifled, a feeling I remember when I was in the process of writing them. I can’t express myself quite as eloquently in my second tongue, and if there’s any language in which one must write beautifully, its French. So, my point of conflict: do I write in English or in French? Do I immerse myself at the cost of clarity, or do I come home with a beautiful record of my life here and loose an opportunity to practice the language of my new home?

It may seem silly to worry so much about my writing when I have so many other things to do in Paris, but in India, my writing was such a critical part of my experience, I can’t help but want the same record of my European life. Furthermore, its a conflict that speaks to a larger issue in my life here- the attempt to merge my French and American lives. At home I’m French, at school I’m English and in reality its as though I can’t ever be firmly on one side.

I don’t know how to resolve my conflict. I want to find a way to capitalize on the things I love about both my home and my host countries, for as much as I love France, being abroad has made me realize that my country has wonderful things to offer too. How do I protect and preserve the best things of both of my lives when I feel as though I must be immersed in one or the other to fully appreciate what it has to offer? Do I pick one language, or write in both?