defeat? hell no

The French have a long history of succumbing to surrender. Starting with the surrender of Gaul to the Romans in 52 B.C, and followed by the surrender to the British at the Battle of Crécy during the Hundred Years War, it seems as though when things get rough, the French flee. Even Napoleon Bonaparte, Emperor and commander of the Imperial French Army, surrendered and abdicated during the Battle of Waterloo in 1815. What ever happened to going down with the ship? When did it become acceptable to take the easy way out, to wave the white flag when we find ourselves treading water?

That look of defeat doesn't
flatter anyone!

For the past few weeks, it seems as though I have spent most of my time in search of a white flag, in search of a way out from all the struggle that France has imposed upon me. But when I take a step back, what struggles am I speaking of, and can they even be defined as such? What do I think this country is inflicting on my everyday life? Nothing, well at least nothing uniquely directed towards me. Everyone else in my situation is experiencing the same thing. Call it “mal du pays” if you want, but I think it is more a state of discomfort. I am out of the downtown New York bubble, and out of my comfort zone. How ludicrous would it be to surrender to discomfort? Entirely.

So my mission for here on out is to try my hardest to forget about my life in New York—not my friends, my life. My life is in France. My potential inspiration is in France. People have been mentioning my lack of writing recently, and I attribute this to the fact that I have found nothing to write about. But the truth is, I wasn’t looking for anything to write about. I had given up on the ability of Paris to induce creativity in my own mind. Tragically, I even considered surrendering this very blog.

No! One shall not wave a white flag! One’s residence in France does not require one to take on the precedent of surrender! I am the exception. I will induce the flow creativity, despite Napoleon’s soft whisper in my left ear. I must take influence from the Joan of Arcs of France instead. In them, I will find my subjects. In them, I will find my comfort.

Would you call me pathetic for calling my mother last night at 1:00 AM and requesting a care package of sour-patch kids and Reeses cups? Judge if you want, but I have a feeling that with these little pick-me-ups in my bag, my eyes will be opened just a centimeter wider, and that Napoleon will be forced to find someone else to taunt. In the words of Dido, a musical favorite from way back in seventh grade, “I will go down the ship. I wont put my hands up and surrender.”