Two months to go

I should feel like an adult by now.

I’ve been 20 years old for 7 months, and I’m the oldest sibling in my family. I have multiple part-time jobs and take classes in college. I’m adventurous and outgoing, and I’ve never been shy about making doctor’s appointments over the phone. But there’s something in the not-so-distant future that makes me shrivel up in fear and feel more like a child than I have in a long time. There’s something that makes my blood icy, something that makes me want to cling to my mother and beg her never to let me go, to curl up in bed and cry in fear.

I’m going to be alone for the first time in my life, and it scares me out of my mind.

In two months (exactly that, as of yesterday), the wheels of a plane will meet the ground of France. I’ll flash my student visa in customs and hop in a taxi to my foyer, nose pressed against the glass of the car as I take in the first views of my new city: Paris, the city of love/light/whatever other romanticized view I’ve absorbed my whole life.

Don’t misunderstand me: I’ve been looking forward to this adventure since I was fifteen, but back then, I thought that study abroad would be a semester of running carefree around a city, drinking wine, reading political theory for fun, and showing off my perfect French (because I totally would have perfected it by now). It was a pretty picture I painted for myself, but, two months out, it’s a lot more complicated than that (surprise!). I had plenty of time to mature and grow and learn when I was fifteen, but now that I’m twenty and about to go on the biggest journey of my life (so far), I don’t feel mature, grown, or learned enough to make it across the ocean.

Strangely enough, this isn’t my first time living abroad. I spent my summer in Israel, living and working in Jerusalem for two months. I should be able to see going to Paris as a double feature of my summer adventures, right? But I just can’t- even though I’ve been there, and even though my French is passable, it still feels (almost comically) foreign. When I was in Israel, I still had family that I could call if I needed anything. I was still surrounded by a language that was familiar and comforting. I still felt like I was one of them, like living there was natural and as easy as breathing. I can’t even imagine myself being comfortable in Paris yet. I see myself getting lost because I misunderstood someone’s directions or missing an appointment because I mixed up the days of the week.

I have never been truly alone before. I was raised on the idea that family is the most important thing in life. In my family, we are so close that it sometimes scares my friends (“you talk to your mom about that?” “I can’t believe your grandparents know about xyz!”). My whole family knew that going to France was part of my life, my college journey. They’ve encouraged me every step of the way. But that’s the part I never thought about: they’re not coming with me. Yes, I have friends going abroad too, even some to Paris, but it’s not the same as having an extension of yourself be a short flight away. The Atlantic Ocean and the 6-hour time difference cut me off from dependency, and that’s the scariest part. I have to be a real adult with no familiarity to fall back on. No more safety net.

I’m trying to be positive about it, in true Jasmine fashion. Maybe being alone will be liberating. Maybe it will mature, grow, and teach me. Maybe it will be the best choice I ever made because as much as I’m afraid of being alone, I yearn for adventure and discovery. There is so much to see in the world, and even more to learn. Maybe the first thing is learning how to be by myself.

For now, I still have two months. I wonder how I’ll feel then.

#predeparture #before