The Big Move
It is my first night in Quebec, and I am feeling the permanence of my decision to move here bubble to the surface. The many hours I spent not studying French are catching up with me. It is painful trying to communicate with my boyfriend's family. They are friendly and welcoming, and I cannot even tell them how thankful I am for their hospitality, or that I already ate please don't feed me dinner.
My boyfriend's father speaks broken English. I speak broken French. Between the two of us, we can communicate on a basic level. His partner speaks no English, and we must rely on hand gestures and what little French I know to get by. I watch my boyfriend and his father talk, trying to follow the conversation based on the few words I do know, and believe there is no way I will ever be fluent in French. I feel stupid. I feel angry at myself. I am in a hell of my own making.
I've known I was moving to Quebec since January. Instead of putting effort into learning the language of the land, I chose instead to actively avoid it. There was always a reason. I'm busy, I'm tired, my job is shitty, I can't focus, I don't want to use what little time I have to myself for study. And I think in some way, a part of me believed that if I didn't learn French, I wouldn't be moving.
Not that I didn't want this move. Since crashing and burning at my live-in care position, I've been drifting. I feel like a complete failure. I finished university. I have a degree. But I haven't done a thing with it. I got a job I enjoyed and was good at, only to have a nervous breakdown and quit. I don't know what I want to do with my life, and am terrified of being trapped in something I don't want, or settling because there's nothing better. I feel like I've been spinning my tires, hoping that applying enough gas will somehow get me out of the rut I've dug for myself. I was drowning in my comfort zone, being pulled deeper and deeper into an apathy that scared me. And of course, the demon took advantage of that. Is still taking advantage of my perfectly normal apprehension about moving across the country.
It screams at me that I am making a mistake.
It uses up my focus to remind me I will always be an outsider here.
It laughs and tells me I'm trapped.
I know these things aren't true. Every step I've taken, every success and failure, has lead me to this moment. Has lead me to the people I love. If I cannot trust my own feet, what can I trust? I will make the best of my poor French and learn. I will bloom in this place where I have planted myself.
Of course, I will miss my life in BC. I've spent my whole life curating friendships that are a precious and permanent part of me. I am afraid of the distance between us, because I don't want to lose them, but I know that I have to fight for what is important. I will miss my home; because nowhere else in the world is as wholly mine as BC. I think about places where I have been, places where I have grown, and wonder if I will ever see them again. Wonder when the last time I saw them was, and if I would have focused on remembering it more if I knew it was the last time.
I will also miss the convenience of my old life. It will be hard for me living in a place where I don't speak the language. Even something as simple as ordering a coffee at Tim Hortons becomes a monumental task, a source of anxiety, and a drain on my energy. I know it will not always be so difficult, but the tomorrow where it isn't feels impossibly far away.
It still doesn't feel real, and I am not 100% convinced yet that I have actually moved here. My brain keeps having thoughts of "when we go home" and "won't it be nice to sleep in your own bed" without the realization that this is my home now. My bed is where I make it. I've raised anchor and set sail, trusting God and the wind to see me through.
I am anxious of what tomorrow brings. I am afraid of the demon taking advantage of how much extra energy I have to spend just to exist here. But there is a small butterfly of hope fluttering out of the box in my heart. This is a chance to make my life what I want it to be. For now, hope will have to be enough.
My boyfriend's father speaks broken English. I speak broken French. Between the two of us, we can communicate on a basic level. His partner speaks no English, and we must rely on hand gestures and what little French I know to get by. I watch my boyfriend and his father talk, trying to follow the conversation based on the few words I do know, and believe there is no way I will ever be fluent in French. I feel stupid. I feel angry at myself. I am in a hell of my own making.
I've known I was moving to Quebec since January. Instead of putting effort into learning the language of the land, I chose instead to actively avoid it. There was always a reason. I'm busy, I'm tired, my job is shitty, I can't focus, I don't want to use what little time I have to myself for study. And I think in some way, a part of me believed that if I didn't learn French, I wouldn't be moving.
Not that I didn't want this move. Since crashing and burning at my live-in care position, I've been drifting. I feel like a complete failure. I finished university. I have a degree. But I haven't done a thing with it. I got a job I enjoyed and was good at, only to have a nervous breakdown and quit. I don't know what I want to do with my life, and am terrified of being trapped in something I don't want, or settling because there's nothing better. I feel like I've been spinning my tires, hoping that applying enough gas will somehow get me out of the rut I've dug for myself. I was drowning in my comfort zone, being pulled deeper and deeper into an apathy that scared me. And of course, the demon took advantage of that. Is still taking advantage of my perfectly normal apprehension about moving across the country.
It screams at me that I am making a mistake.
It uses up my focus to remind me I will always be an outsider here.
It laughs and tells me I'm trapped.
I know these things aren't true. Every step I've taken, every success and failure, has lead me to this moment. Has lead me to the people I love. If I cannot trust my own feet, what can I trust? I will make the best of my poor French and learn. I will bloom in this place where I have planted myself.
Of course, I will miss my life in BC. I've spent my whole life curating friendships that are a precious and permanent part of me. I am afraid of the distance between us, because I don't want to lose them, but I know that I have to fight for what is important. I will miss my home; because nowhere else in the world is as wholly mine as BC. I think about places where I have been, places where I have grown, and wonder if I will ever see them again. Wonder when the last time I saw them was, and if I would have focused on remembering it more if I knew it was the last time.
I will also miss the convenience of my old life. It will be hard for me living in a place where I don't speak the language. Even something as simple as ordering a coffee at Tim Hortons becomes a monumental task, a source of anxiety, and a drain on my energy. I know it will not always be so difficult, but the tomorrow where it isn't feels impossibly far away.
It still doesn't feel real, and I am not 100% convinced yet that I have actually moved here. My brain keeps having thoughts of "when we go home" and "won't it be nice to sleep in your own bed" without the realization that this is my home now. My bed is where I make it. I've raised anchor and set sail, trusting God and the wind to see me through.
I am anxious of what tomorrow brings. I am afraid of the demon taking advantage of how much extra energy I have to spend just to exist here. But there is a small butterfly of hope fluttering out of the box in my heart. This is a chance to make my life what I want it to be. For now, hope will have to be enough.
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