Observing A New Self

A bulleted list: on moving to France.

• I live here in France now. A commune, a small town - call it what you will.

• As someone who has only ever lived in Bombay by herself (and that was years ago, in the college hostel), moving from India to Europe has been a shock that’s equal parts pleasant and unpleasant.

• My ears are still just about getting used to the silence.

• My ability to speak French is like turning on a tap - I’m here and it’s flowing like the most natural thing in the world.

• (…and I’m no longer quite as self-conscious as I used to be - or have I learnt to mask it well?)

• I teach English in three primary schools, to children from the ages of five to nine. I’m still easing into the routine, the commute - but seeing their little faces and wide smiles makes my day every time.

• Another first - finding it hard to wake up in the morning. (The sun rises at 8am. I’m a morning person through and through, but this adjustment has been particularly difficult.)

• The skies are azure with cotton-candy-white clouds scattered across.

• The riveting Pyrenees mountain range is the companion to my everyday commute, on the bus and while walking.

• The silence, especially 7pm onwards, is like a bottomless well. Sometimes I welcome it. Sometimes I dread it.

• Thank goodness for video calls. The thousands of miles separating us melts away in an instant.

• Living completely alone is a quotidian discovery. The apartment is mine and the time is mine, to do as I choose.

• I have finally learnt how to cook. The pressure cooker is probably my favourite kitchen appliance.

• I’m meticulous about keeping track of my weekly expenses - I have a Google Doc just for that.

• Everything is within walking distance from my apartment - the bank, the supermarket, the bus stop - everything but my schools…

• I am learning to familiarise myself with the sights, sounds, smells, and tastes of an altogether new continent.

• Like a flower unfurling its petals, I am watching myself respond to situations and moments - small and big - gentle, self-compassionate.

• Every now and then, the thought of losing my old friendships crosses my mind; each time, I feel as if a cold draught has swept through me.

• I have not wanted to type here as much as I have wanted to write (and have written) in my journal.

• My journal immediately became my best friend. In a town that I’d never previously heard of, I’m apprehensive about approaching people; even more so about the possibilities and ways of fostering new friendships. Perhaps things will become easier with time.

• Almost a fortnight into this new adventure, I am being cautious; perhaps overly so. The only place where I actually let a little of my guard down is at school, with the children, in a safe environment.

• There are moments when I yearn to call or text my loved ones more frequently, but something inexplicable stops me. My inner critic cackles; hoots in my ear that they wouldn’t want to hear from me so often. I try to turn a deaf ear to it.

• There’s only so much negative self-talk that my brain can handle. I catch myself wanting to scold myself; soothe myself.

• In these two weeks, I have never felt more seen or heard anywhere else than in the pages of my journal. I use it as a stream-of-consciousness playground.

• I chanced upon the most charming, delightful stationery-bookstore in my vicinity, also within walking distance from my apartment. It is my little corner of paradise.

• I’m consciously trying not to doomscroll during my pockets of free time. Trying…

• Daily chores are somewhat meditative. I have a pretty relaxed schedule of weekend laundry, cleaning, stocking up on groceries.

• In all this newness, I have completely neglected my yoga practice. My red yoga mat stares at me balefully from where it is laid out. I feel like apologising to it.

• I’m prone to feeling easily exhausted by the smallest of physical efforts. That’s why I’m watching what I eat and how much I eat. I’m becoming particular about eating home-cooked food. I don’t like eating out here as much as I had thought I would.

• I’m seeing a slower, more deliberate rhythm and pace of life all around me. It doesn’t buzz with adrenaline; it flows like a quiet, unobtrusive stream.

• I wish I were more spontaneous, less measured. It would make social interaction much more natural. But this is who I am. I will not apologise for it.

• This was once a starry-eyed twelve-year-old girl’s dream. To be in France in any capacity, to be able to speak fluent French - interact with natives and have them understand her. To see the gleam of delighted surprise in their eyes, to have discovered someone who speaks their language almost the way they do.

• I’m learning to allow everything, resist nothing; gently striving to absorb Bruce Lee’s timeless aphorism - "Be water, my friend."