Going home over Christmas break, one of the questions I was asked the most seemed to be: what do you miss about the U.S.? Or what is different about France?

Aside from the obvious answers, like the language, the culture, the first thing that springs to my mind, and always has, is the doorknobs.  Now to a sane person, this response might seem slightly odd or a bit unhinged.

It is.

But, I have come to learn that it is the little things, the ones that we bury in the back of our minds, that really come to focus when you live abroad.  So, sitting at my desk, looking around my room, I started to compile a list of these little things.  It sure is random, but for some reason each of these have really stuck with me.

To start, I should explain the doorknobs.  The first time I traveled to France alone I was fifteen.  I won a scholarship and was sent to stay with a host family for three weeks.  Unfortunately, I did not have a very good time.  From what I remember, I was miserably homesick, I cried buckets, and I did not get along with my host sister. Yet, through my misery, I remember how weird the doorknobs were.  There were no nice, round knobs, smooth and chilly to the touch, just these odd, European ones, long and thin, fragile in comparison.  Now, five years later, I am back, and the doorknobs have not changed.

Next: colored toilet paper.  I never thought about it before, but it doesn’t really exist in the U.S.  But, here, I buy TP that is as pink as those spring-colored marshmallows, and didn’t think twice about it until my mom pointed it out during her visit.  And then suddenly, not only was the paper white and pink, but every pastel color of the rainbow!  How silly.

Milk and juice in boxes: it’s almost as if I am back in elementary school.  Here most juice and milk can be bought in liter boxes, en vrac and un-refrigerated.  At first it was really weird to pick up a half-gallon of milk that had just been sitting there for who-knows-how-long at room temperature.  But upon tasting it, I discovered that this long-lasting milk, as it’s called in the UK, is really tasty, a bit richer and creamier than American milk.

Finally, the last differences were actually pointed out to me by French students, questioning what they had heard or learned about the States.  The first was a question from my friend Adrien, who asked me, quite worried: “Is it true that at university, you move in and live in the same room with someone who you have never met?”  I remember the question in his voice, his curiosity in this odd American idea.  Then, it dawned on me: that is bizarre.  The tradition of freshman roommates is pretty common throughout the States; I remember how I awaited move-in day with excitement and nervousness.  My freshman roommate and I had exchanged a few awkward Facebook messages and phone conversations, but before moving in, I did not know her.  Somehow, this idea never seemed weird to me.  I had grown up knowing that freshman year of college, I would move in with someone who I had never met before, sharing a small room together, learning to coexist and survive our first year of college together.  But here was someone, peering in from outside of my culture, helping me view at it from a different perspective.  I couldn’t help but laugh.  I acknowledged the truth in the question, and was left to reflect upon what I had just learned.

After that first question, several est-ce que c’est vrai (is it true…) questions followed.  I have been asked about food, about music, about culture, even about bathroom stalls.  And here I am continuously getting lost in the little things, learning to live abroad and enjoy these differences.