I was born in France and lived in Normandy, France until I was five years old. My mother is American and my father is French. My first language was French and my older sister’s first language as well. When I was five years old, my family moved to America for business purposes. My sister was old enough to retain her French as she learned English along with my father. I, on the other hand, was not so fortunate. For the first month of my life in America, I spoke nothing; I was silent; No French; no English. Then one day I spoke only English, little did my family know that I would not speak French with them for the next 10 years.
It’s hard to describe people exactly what I am. Saying “im French” has been the automatic response for years. But then I ask myself, “Am I French?” Because I’ve been told by people, im not, which angers me profusely. A French man once asked me if I could speak French because he understood I was a French citizen. I responded with, “Yes, but I can understand it better than I can speak it. I’ve spent much of my life in America.” He shot back with, “You’re not French then.” Such anger bubbled up in me; I sat in angry silence for the remainder of our conversation. “How dare he label me.” I thought. However I’ve had the same doubts myself which puzzled me about the amount of anger I had for this man. I think its because of how left out I feel in my culture.

Other than my first five years in France, every other French experience has become associated with vulnerability, frustration, shame, embarrassment, and anxiety. My parents were worried about me losing my French identity and enrolled me in French Saturday school every weekend when I was six. I was a Shy child. And being forced into a world which I had subconsciously rejected terrified me. I remember being so quiet, the kids thought I was weird, and the teachers believed I had mental issues. I remember how vulnerable I felt, how frustrated I was to be there. My parents eventually took me out because of how miserable I was there. For the next 7 years I was not exposed to many French experiences. Occasionally my parents would ask me to speak French which made my eyes tear up. I never understood why because I didn’t hate my French culture. But the feelings associated with my culture were fresh in my memory and continue to be.

I went back to France for the first time at the age of 13. At that age we are very insecure and uncomfortable. Combined with being immersed into French culture, the feelings of vulnerability and embarrassment grew. I felt I didn’t belong, like the French people didn’t accept me. I instantly felt uncomfortable around French kids my age because I felt inadequate compared to them and memories of my Saturday school reminded me of the vulnerability. Even when I was in France, my ability to speak French was strained, and I continued to speak English because it was too uncomfortable to speak anything else. The only people I felt did somewhat accept me were the bicultural families. These were the people I felt I could relax around.

When I returned home, my French culture was not on my mind much until I was 14 and got a job at a French bakery. The job was so hard and so anxiety inducing that I had to quite. I was already trying to handle my anxiety, and a high stress job as a waitress was not healthy for me at the time. Now I think about how shameful it was of me to quite, how I was too embarrassed to say bye to my coworkers on my last day.

I began to describe myself as European because explaining what I really was turned out to be too complicated. I told this to one man and he told me, “It doesn’t work that way. You are where you grew up.” This angered me because he didn’t know my struggle with my own culture. I wanted to be French! How can I if everyone says it’s wrong of me to be. Im not American but im not French. I don’t have a county to cheer for like most people.

I describe myself as a glitchy up computer. I sometimes think in French and sometimes in English. I understand French more than I speak it and writing is sometimes difficult because of how glitchy my language is. Things make sense and sometimes they don’t.

I live in a worldly hallway because during the day it’s as if all cultures and backgrounds mix but at night each culture returns to a door leaving me in the hallway. Every door is shut except the French and American doors that are cracked open as if to say, “We’re only keeping them open for you because legally your certificate says you’re French/American.” Whichever door I choose to enter, I don’t feel I belong; I stay in the hallway.

I wish to explore the world. And somehow belong to all cultures. And I wish in the future, that we will keep our traditions and not be afraid to share it with others. A culture is a home, not having a culture means having no home. That’s what I believe in my heart. That’s why my heart hurts when I hear my friends speak in their native language with their families because I wish I could do that. That’s why I hope I can find a home in every country I go to. And I hope others; friends; neighbors let me fall in love with their cultures and treat me not as a stranger as I am all too familiar with this feeling.

As a society, we must expand our understanding of the world. Simply Learning a language is not how we create connections around the world. If we advocated for cross-cultural communications in school, this would help us understand cultures around the world and create less ignorance as well. All this would create so much less misunderstanding between community’s and countries. Because we don’t all think alike.

We shouldn’t lose our roots but we should promote understanding of other cultures. I predict the world would improve greatly if we were to educate each generation with cross cultural communications. Imagine the progress as a society. Imagine the connections we would establish. Imagine the conflicts we would prevent. I want to live in that world. Where we are less ignorant and less closed minded. Cross cultural communications education would truly fulfill our human obligation to society.