Crossing the threshold from Willows California to Paris France (back in 1988) was not easy. Even though I was in love, and starting the journey of married life with a Frenchman, leaving my big loving family and friends was not taken lightly, my heart ached in the middle of its joy.
France and I were not instant friends, we didn't just click. No, ours was a slow steady coming together. On those days were France seemed unbearable, cold, and hard, on those days where I struggled with the culture, the language, my Belle-Famille, the lack of a cup-of-tea friend, the list is too long to write. On those days were the different rules and customs bugged me, grating against my independent being, it seemed some sacred spirit would come and stand by me. In the midst of those blue days, something would tug at my sleeve, as if to say, "Here, look here!" The heart on my sleeve would be mended, a smile would blink away the tears, while I held on a little tighter to the country I was coming to know as home. Change takes time, for me, it took years before I felt myself in France.
Sure, I missed my family in Willows, I always will. Time does not change certain things. France is my home, my day-to-day life. The differences between the two countries and myself I rarely notice the two simply blend. France has become my friend, I don't focus on what I have lost, instead, I look at what I have gained.
I have a foot in both countries now, there are things I love and do not love in both. The two worlds, that I call home, sit comfortably side by side each other.
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