Oh Lordy, What Ever Happened to the 1940s?

I think I’m going to crawl back into bed now after this day. Ugh. I don’t even know how else to explain my first day of classes. My first day of FRENCH-speaking classes. I don’t know what I’ve gotten myself into, but I’m rather scared shit-less. And you know that when I straight out swear like that, I mean business.

What am I doing? Like really, what am I doing? I can only be grateful that I thought my schedule out enough to pad it with language courses because without them, this minor nervous breakdown would be one step short of insanity. I knew I didn’t feel ready to be in Program 2! I knew I wasn’t comfortable enough to do content courses in French. I mean, I know how to take language courses taught in French. The teachers KNOW that you’re not fluent. That’s what they’re there for — to help you learn French. I am semi-confident in language courses in French. But, heh, not non-language courses. This is my first time taking any content courses taught in French, and I got my first taste of my unfortunate fate at my third class of the day (after I had been at school since 9am already…).

I can handle the language ones. Sure, listening to French first thing in the morning wouldn’t be my first choice — let alone the fact that it’s a speaking course so once we’ve gotten over our first week of justified silence, we’re all expected to be yacking away in this language — but it wasn’t that bad. And I love my professor, Isabelle. I had her for the prelim course in September and have been dying to have her since, so I’m very happy no matter what hour of the morning it is. Then I had Written Contemporary at 10:45am, which was better than I thought it would be. I understood every word Professor Molkou said to us, and I was feeling pretty good, especially picking up on a grammar rule that some other people were confused about, which she noticed. The consummate teacher’s pet that I am, I was beaming with pride. I like her idea of making writing in French a regular part of our lives by making us write a one-page journal about our lives (or really whatever) due every Monday that she’ll correct and we’ll re-write. It makes sense that in this way writing won’t become such an ordeal every time a slightly longer assignment comes up. Honestly, between Spoken and Written, I know I will be challenged but I feel ready and up to it. I KNOW I will learn and grow a lot from these courses.

But here’s when we come to my third class of the day: Museums and Monuments. First of all, I went to the wrong classroom originally for it and was automatically put off. So that made me late (actually, not even — I technically had 5 minutes left but she started taking attendance early). And what do I walk in on but like 20 other students crammed into a small room and no chair left for me. The professor ended up giving up her chair for me but I was still horrified by the size of the class. I know that NYU Paris is (begrudgingly) growing but now I know I wasn’t dillusional during orientation; there are definitely more people here than there were last semester. Right off the bat, I’m disturbed by how large all my classes are this semester. Not one of them is small (besides potentially my one English-speaking class tomorrow but that is yet to be seen) with at least 12 people in each class. I know, I know, I’m spoiled. But that’s what NYU Paris is supposed to be about: small classes, close attention, and real participation. If I wanted bigger classes crammed into small rooms and not getting to know my professors, I’d go back to New York.

Now add on the fact that this is a content course, not a language course. The professor, as nice as she seemed, also seemed to have very little concept that this wasn’t our first language other than giving us a two-page vocab sheet and telling us that if we didn’t know it, we essentially would have no idea what’s going on before starting to go off on some aspect of the history of art in the 17th century. I still don’t even know. I was too shell shocked. I then noticed that I was no longer in my language-class haven of everyone being in the same level. At least in Spoken and Written Contemporary, we know we’re not as strong as those in Advanced. It’s our goal to get there by being IN those classes. But in these content classes, there is no distinction. And then I realized the other problem I hadn’t considered: my competitive nature.

I know what everyone will say and what my dad has been telling me for years: don’t compare yourself to others, compare yourself to your potential and do your best. BLAH BLAH. No, when I’m sitting in class struggling to keep up with what the professor is saying, wanting so badly to ask a question but my timidity/lack of vocabulary holding me back (and I am ALWAYS the person who asks questions to be sure, which is seriously frustrating me that I can’t do that now), and this basically fluent girl speaks up and has a debate in rapid-fire French without an unsure waver in her voice, I can’t deal. I’m sure she’s a nice person but I automatically hated her. And this is the one case when I will admit that it’s purely out of jealousy. I want to be fluent so badly that I am unbelievably jealous of anyone who is, particularly those Americans who had some at-home advantage in learning it. And so a small part of me burns up when I hear anyone speaking well and I shut down further into my cranky mindset. Snap out of it, you say? Don’t let that hold you back? Easier said than done. This is why I never did sports either: my competitive nature always makes me angry and I don’t like Angry Anna.

I don’t think it’s fair for people like me just coming out of all-English-speaking courses and a basic-but-not-much-more level of French to be plunked in the same classes with the same expectations as those who are fluent or at the very least more confident than I. I don’t know what the alternative is, but I know I need to rant about it because I am frustrated. I sat there the entire class, practically on the verge of tears by the end, realizing that I was royally screwed for the semester. It would be hard enough learning art history in English; In French, you may as well be teaching me Greek. And I can’t drop the course because I need it for a core credit. I don’t know whether to take notes in English or French so my notes are a blend of both, probably completely incomprehensible with every other word spelled wrong. I find myself glancing on my neighbor’s notes to make sure I’m hearing correctly. I don’t even know how I am going to take notes on our visits to the museums if I could hardly keep up with my notes at our monuments visits last semester when the class was in ENGLISH. I found out that it wasn’t the fact that I couldn’t understand her; rather it was impossible to actually learn anything between listening, trying to figure out what to write down, how to write it down… and don’t even get me started with dates. Anytime a year like 1967 is said and isn’t written on the board, I spend 2 minutes trying to decipher the numbers in my head, by which point we’ve completely moved on and I’ve missed it. And when I miss stuff or I get frustrated, I zone and pretend it’s not happening. Oh my God. I’m so screwed.

The last thing to burn me was the fact that the professor kept us 15 minutes over class, another pattern I’ve noticed among my French professors. None of them seem to look at their watches and are blissfully unaware of the fact that we have other things to do/places to go/classes. And no one ever says anything to them because we don’t want to look rude or impolite. Oh, and did I mention that in my stress I accidentally “tutoyed” the professor and then immediately switched to “vous,” humiliated? My bed is looking better and better.

Last semester was not cake, not even in comparison to this. But what I will say about last semester is that I learned SO MUCH. And that really meant something to me. I left the semester with so much knowledge in my head about France, monuments, Paris, politics, culture, history, architecture, symbolism… so many amazing things, some of which I still miraculously remember. And I was SO happy about that! I would chatter away to my parents about French history, maybe sounding pretentious at times but the point was that I had a source of pride in knowing things I never thought I would. And on top of that I worked my butt off to get straight A’s. But I see what this semester is coming to. This is going to be all about me learning French, and absolutely nothing else. Which is disappointing because I do like learning other things, too. I had to take the dive sometime, and even though it’s not enjoyable, it’s the only way I’m going to get to the point of fluency that I’m currently jealous of. But I can kiss my straight A’s goodbye.

In short, you’re looking at a very stressed and nostalgic Anna, desperately missing the English language. I miss learning and participating in English, having the freedom and ability to be the student I know I am. And I miss Program 1 courses. There are so many interesting ones!! All I can say for now is that I’ve never looked forward to a class more, for TOMORROW the only class I have is entirely conducted in English and done so by my favorite professor. I guess that’s the one light in this murkiness: I have Nadine, Isabelle, and Christina again. And did I mention tomorrow’s class is in English?!