Coping Mechanisms
A truthful response to the question “How was Paris???” and more
I haven’t shared any stories or written anything since the last one I wrote about my friends and my favorite bar in Paris. It’s not because I stopped living or because life was any less exciting back in suburbia. Life goes on. And life went on. And I understood that. But I couldn’t help but grieve and be silent.
The fact of the matter is, I wasn’t really feeling…anything. So naturally, I had nothing to write.
But I’m back again and I’m here to answer this lovely question I have been asked over and over by lovely people in the lands. It’s a great question, one that accomplishes everyone’s civil duties as friends and social beings. It’s a question people ask to be polite, to show a bit of interest, but not too much interest. It’s a question where every time I hear it, it feels like an arrow has pierced through my brain, replacing all my thoughts with only sentiments of loneliness.
Don’t get me wrong though. People don’t mean any harm, they never do. They are just trying to be nice. They don’t know me well enough to ask a question more personal, but they do know me enough where it would be rude not to ask. And I am ever so grateful that I have people who care enough to ask me this question because it’s better than not asking at all and carrying on instead with the latest rotting gossip about their friend groups. I’ve had that experience quite a bit as well.
So here is my (as always) brutally honest response to my favorite question of the month:
Oh my god how was it? How was Paris???
(Yes, it is almost always preceded by a passionate oh my god and sometimes followed by not two, but three very exciting question marks. If spoken and not typed, the amount of question marks can be estimated by observing the approximate dilated pupil size and level of elevation in tone of voice. They’re positively correlated).
Hello, kind acquaintance, thank you for your concern and interest. Here is my response in truth extending beyond our polite social banter. Paris was the best time of my life and I hope that you can excuse how cliche it sounds. Before I left, that quarter was the most unhappy I had ever been in my life.
Why was I unhappy?
I had a lot of toxic friendships. All of my friends needed me for something. Sometimes it was validation, sometimes it was comfort, the worst times it was for rides. My happiness depended on a lot of people and I wore my heart on my sleeves. I also sought validation from other people, which is insanely idiotic, and I was overly attached to my friends. I was so incredibly lonely and lost. I was loving other people the way they needed to be loved but no one was doing the same for me. I was not a person, just a human embodiment of student organizations and the random roles, responsibilities, and labels associated.
Big Sis. Little. Friend. Staffer. Mentor. VPA. Pi Phi. GA. These were all of my names. And attached to these names were all these little random responsibilities that would consume me and dictate the course of my day. Home wasn’t any better. I didn’t like to go home because my parents would constantly dismiss my opinions and thoughts as childish and underdeveloped because I disagreed with them on social and political issues. It was to a point where my existence felt invalidated and the thought of civil conversation was overwhelming. Anyway, I was seeing a counselor for the first time in my life.
It was not a good time and I was incredibly tired, so the juxtaposition of Paris was completely liberating. Attached to the city was a new life and a new opportunity. It was the first time I didn’t have people telling me who I was and what my roles and responsibilities were. It was confusing at first because I took all the external determinants of who I was and threw that away and so what I was left with was just my raw self. At one point, I stopped trying to be myself and I just be-ed, and that was ironically the most myself I had ever felt. It’s crazy how put together yet free-spirited that city made me feel.
I traveled alone for the first time. No, not in a Buzzfeed millennial trend soul-searching bullshit type of way. I traveled alone not to search for my soul, but to force myself to face loneliness and to test how strong I really was. I wanted to see how far I could go, being by myself. We live this life alone. We enter this world alone and we leave it alone. If you are lucky, quality people will come into your life to keep you company but if I know anything, it’s that nothing is permanent. And so I strongly believe that it is important for us to face loneliness head-on and learn how to be alone without feeling lonely especially now in college, when being alone is a choice rather than a reality. Practice now for later. Because embracing solitude can be a beautiful thing in your spiritual journey and traveling alone was the best way I could think of to face solitude.
You might resent me for this, call me pretentious, privileged, narcissistic — frankly you are correct, I am a little bit of all of these things (but just in tasteful doses). I take a lot of pride in how I lived my life these past five months and I am well aware that in this blog post, I am not coming across as the most humbled person. But it’s so difficult these days to be honest and proud of your own growth and accomplishment, isn’t it? Because we are so worried about how we may come across. Well, with the extent of my privilege and impact of my words in mind, I still choose to be completely honest with you. Stranger. Friend. Mom? Whoever you may be.
This is how I feel. These past five months changed me a lot. I might still look the same and dress the same and maybe even act the same (you know, just to fit in) but I feel different. I feel happy and I feel confident. I have a lower tolerance for bullshit now so I apologize if I ever offend you with my disinterest. I’m more unapologetic about who I am and how I feel (but obvi I’m still polite so I’ll still apologize for ever offending you with my unapologetic-ness).
Some days, my insecurities still consume me and I let it bury me, deeply. Some days, words still hurt me. Some days, I still get engulfed by a wave of loneliness. Some days, I still fat-shame myself, compare myself to other people on social media. Some days, I feel dissatisfied with my life.
But those are only some days.
Most days I am fine. More than fine.
So what is my life like now? Post-Paris?
I feel like this is always the secret part two that is implied with the “how was Paris” question but never really spoken and the reason is two-fold. One, no one wants to hear about how sad you are to be home after traveling you privileged piece of shit. Two, the question could get weirdly personal, real fast. It’s like when people ask “how are you” or “what’s up” they don’t really want to hear your life story, just whatever you can fit into five seconds of polite banter. But because I’m weird and can’t take social cues, I’m going to do the first and tell you my life story :-)
Being back in California was painful for the two weeks I was there but I couldn’t articulate why and it took me a long time to sort out the emotions I was feeling exactly. I didn’t think psychology had invented the term yet for me to diagnose myself. It was nice not to be sleeping in hostel beds and to be able to wave my arms around freely in the shower without the fear of touching mold on the walls. It was so comfortable. And that scared me. I was surrounded by friends constantly. And that scared me. It was as if I never left; everything about home had remained the same. The people. The routine. The conversations.. and that scared me.
I am currently living in Taipei for the summer. I actually just went on a cruise to Okinawa but I didn’t see anything because I had a 103 fever the entire time. I stay at my uncle’s apartment in Taipei which is an 8 minute walking distance from the Academia Sinica, where I work. I work for an art history researcher in the Department of European American Studies and though a lot of the work I do is very basic, I’m learning a lot in the process about art and humanities. I have a lot of free time at work to do my own thing since I usually finish my assigned work pretty quickly. Sometimes, I’ll brush up on IR and feminist articles, sometimes I’ll read crime novels. Sometimes, I’ll write blog posts. Most of the time, I’m tweeting about how ridiculous my interactions with people at work are. My lunch break is an hour and a half and usually I’ll go home and eat whatever my aunt decided to cook that day. I really like my walk from home to work — it’s very scenic and calming and a great way to start and end the day. No one really talks to me at work — my theory is that it’s because I’m so obviously American that people assume I don’t speak mandarin. I have one friend. He sits at the front desk and I say hi to him every morning when I come in. I finally asked him for his name today. This is all very great progress.
I usually dread working 9–5 jobs (and I’ve had so many over the summer) but this one is not bad at all. The structure forces me to do more with my time to maximize my productivity during and after work. I’ve also kind of enjoyed having a minimal social life and just going home and spending time fucking around with my uncle’s two crazy kids.
(Never let me near your children. I like to tell them ridiculous facts about the world that are not true. I am currently trying to convince the younger one that her stuffed animals come alive at night and watch her sleep. What is wrong with you, Vanessa?? Yeah, I really don’t know).
This job, this city, the normalcy of it all, you can very well say this is my attempt at escaping my real life. I left Europe, went home for two weeks, and then escaped to Asia. You’re probably right. I feel like I’m living in my own Utopian reality. None of this feels very real. The happiness and peace I feel almost seems hazy, like I’m feeling and seeing through a fog. But I think I deserve this. I like the comfort of structure and the fact that this structure is new. I am no longer in Europe and I have had to say goodbye to the person I was at that specific place and time, but I have the luxury of not being at home. I’m in a different city living a different life and being a different version of myself. Not the same as the one in Europe, but not the same as the one back home either.
Am I worried about going back home after this summer ends and having to face my reality?
Not really. Lucky for me, I’m going to be a Resident Adviser in Mesa Court next year and that for me is kind of a dream come true. I’ve basically quit all my involvements and threw away a bunch of friendships just so I can fully dedicate myself to this job. ((Normal people wouldn’t do that but I’m pretty much an extremist.))
In conclusion…
This has been a very long post/confession/self-interview so if you made it this far down, thank you very much for reading. If you are currently or planning on studying abroad, I hope this was slightly helpful in seeing how the post-study abroad life is like and how the transition can feel. If you have just come back from abroad like me, I hope this, at the very least, brought you some sense of comfort in knowing that you are not alone and that whatever you are feeling is valid. Some people call it post-study abroad depression, but I don’t like to use the word depression very lightly (ever since Shannon Chang called me out on it) since it could invalidate the very real and serious clinical depression some people are going through. Whatever you may call it though, the sadness will be real. And if you are someone who feels too much, like me, it could be really difficult to deal with. Just remember that you are still you and the lessons you learned and the version of yourself you saw there is still inside you. All it takes is a triggering sound, memory, or feeling and it will all come flooding back. I promise.
You will be okay. More than okay.
