The first time my mother brought up the idea of going to French International School of Beijing (LFIP), I found the joke absolutely hilarious. But when I saw her dead serious expression, I choked back the last of my laughter and looked at my mom the way someone would look at a madman. She was serious. That’s when I decided, my mother had really lost her mind this time.
I mean, think about it. I am a Swedish Chinese biracial girl with no ties whatsoever to France besides my love for French cuisine. I went to a Chinese preschool, that made sense. I went to the Swedish school for a year, that also made sense. Then I went to International School of Beijing (ISB) for eight and a half years, which also made sense given that after middle school I decided to go to the US for boarding school. But the French school…
Regardless of my reactions, my mom pitched the idea with vigor through the lens of French improvement, but that just made me more cautious about the idea. It meant most of my classes would be in French, and my grades would probably take a huge hit. I questioned if my ego could take it. After weeks of persuasion, my mom got me on board with this idea, begrudgingly. I was just staying for one year.
Sep 7, the first day of school came way too quickly. I remember standing outside of the schoolyard with my parents, annoyed and anxious. They were chuckling like it was the best day of their lives, and I firmly told them that I wouldn’t make any friends and that I would be absolutely miserable. In the courtyard, I stood alone to the side, listening to my music like the antisocial kid did in the movies, and I prayed for the world to disappear. That prayer didn’t work out because three girls who had previously been chatting away in rapid French approached me and introduced themselves. Oh crap…well, they seemed nice enough, they just spoke way too quickly. I think they asked me what my name was, but before I could even process half of their sentence, they were done speaking. I opened my mouth to respond but closed it again. I just couldn’t keep up. At that moment, I questioned if the language I had previously learned for four hours a week really was French or if I had been learning a whole different language altogether, but I just didn’t know about it. I never felt more out of place, and naturally, felt too awkward and embarrassed to actually pursue those friendships because of my French deficiencies.
In French classes, I was the mute who would never say a word. In Chinese classes, I felt more at ease, and in English classes, I was the gregarious girl who just wouldn’t keep her mouth shut. Always in an American system, the lecture-based classes just seemed mundane to me, and it became way too much French to actually listen to. But gradually, I began to understand more of the French that was being spoken around me, and I even began adjusting to the speed. But I’d be lying if I said that my struggles ended there.
French people took their vacations very seriously and having grown up with a more subdued version of the Chinese Tiger Mom, I was used to the fast-paced life that accompanied me since I was in first grade. So, when the time came to work in groups, I found myself frustrated that my often-unrealistic expectations weren’t being met. In my mind, work came first, and then you enjoy the time you have left, and vacation was no exception. But that wasn’t the case with my peers when I found myself being met with walls of dead silence to any subject work-related. There were multiple times where I felt like my head was going to explode, but there was just nothing I could do about it.
Something else that I found very awkward at first was the “bise” French people do as greetings. When it first happened to me at LFIP, I genuinely thought they were coming in for a hug, so I gladly embraced it, only to be met with cheek kisses. Remembering in vivid detail that I flinched when it happened, I refuse to ask them now if my flinching had offended them in any way. Especially since we’re friends now. I guess I’ll settle with never finding out.
That first month when I went home every day, I was in a state of desperation, scrolling through my camera roll reminiscing about my time at my boarding school in the US. But I didn’t know that like my mom had predicted, with some work I would thrive in the French environment.
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