An Essay on Homesickness

Homesick.

/ˈhəʊmsɪk/
adjective
experiencing a longing for one’s home during a period of absence from it.

Having lived and worked abroad for the past two, soon-to-be three years, I’ve had my fair share of missing home. With over 5800 miles (9300 kilometers), a nine-hour time difference, and a massive ocean separating me from my hometown, they make the feeling of being away for months on-end all the more challenging to deal with. Things such as having to find time to talk to family and friends (“let’s Skype at 9 am– your time or my time?”) or missing out on birthdays and social events have been the habit for quite some time now and, while I’ve grown to accept the fact that I can’t be there personally, there’s still that sad twinge every time that I’ve had to decline a wedding invitation or cancel a Skype session because I’m just too tired to talk.

I believe that there’s a word which describes that feeling of moving abroad and feeling incredibly excited for a few weeks or months before the honeymoon phase starts to fade. Perhaps it’s “disillusionment,” but all the same it has happened to me too often, especially when I have a bad week teaching or am alone in my apartment. From experience, the feeling of cynicism begins to hit about two months after settling in, soon to be followed by winter depression, which can last anywhere from one to three months. That’s a long time to be sad, and it’s certainly not a fun place to be in.

Admittedly, I was happy to return to France for a third and consecutive year this August. Upon returning, I made efforts to get out of my shy, introverted shell (as I always do at the start of each school year, whether or not I was in school) and talk to people. That was exactly what I did for the first month-and-a-half, saying “yes” to as many events as possible and initiating get-togethers with other enseignant(e)s and expats. I’m glad that I’m living in a bigger city, compared with previous years in small towns: there are plenty of other lecteurs/lectrices and assistant(e)s to hang out with, along with others whom I’ve gotten to know through mutual friends. Even if many of the socials are just casual meetups and nothing too deep, at least I have something to look forward to every Friday and weekend nights. I also have roommates whom I can talk to back at the apartment, even speaking French with them. Still though, my introverted self still remains, and at times has come out and reared its ugly head.

Speaking of French, I’ve been having this strange feeling for the last year-and-a-half concerning where I am with its culture and language. In other words, I am afraid to admit that I’m losing my love and passion for it: since returning to France after a summer of speaking zero French, it has been hard for me to get back into the swing of using it and feeling comfortable doing so. I speak French with my roommates, but I struggle, because I’m intimidated by them (they’re native French speakers). Totally irrational, I know, especially when they’re super nice, patient, and have had experience going abroad for languages (English, in their case).

But still, though, I continue to be frustrated at my fear of public speaking, even after over ten years of learning French. I know that I have a good level (somewhere between B2 and C1), and I know that I’m capable, but at this point, I don’t have that spark that I once had for the language– now, it’s just a matter of me using it to read documents, communicate with administration, and order things at the restaurant/bar. Having conversations in French are seldom, and I’m not eager to have them, either. This feeling of apathy frightens me, and being homesick hasn’t made it any better.

Feelings of homesickness particularly come out whenever I have a not-so-great day (or week) of teaching. Looking at the big picture, though, I can’t complain about my work: I’m incredibly fortunate to have a great responsable who’s taken care of me since being hired and I have had no problems with administration and getting classes in which the students are generally good and motivated to learn. It’s the days, however, when a lesson doesn’t go so well, e.g. students don’t understand, don’t pay attention, or an issue with classroom management (still working on that), when I lose faith in my teaching abilities and in myself for having been chosen in the first place to be a lectrice. Again, the vast majority of my 170+ students are fine, but it’s the small handful of not-so-great students (the “rotten apples,” as I call them) who ruin my whole perception of the class. It’s unfortunate that I let them get to me, but I’m working to care less.

The main thing is, though, I missed the comfort of being comfortable. Even after living in France for a while and knowing the system better, I still don’t feel myself assimilating completely. Granted, I live in a bigger city this year, and have seen more diversity in the people (no longer the only Asian in town, yay!), but I don’t feel completely at ease in French society. Whether it’s due to the fact that I smell cigarettes every-freakin’-where or the fact that bureaucracy’s a nightmare, it’s the little things which make me realize that I, in fact, wouldn’t want to live in France for the rest of my life. I’ve pretty much determined that after the end of my first year teaching, but I’m on my third year abroad, so go figure…

Overall, I’m well-aware that this is merely a temporary funk, that I’ve been sick and had some sub-par classes these past couple of weeks, but this goes to show that everyone living abroad gets the homesick blues, even after years of being away from home. It’s a matter of forgiving myself and envisioning better days to come. There are holidays to look forward to (especially very soon) and more great memories with the people whom I’ve gotten to know so far. As the old saying goes, “This, too, shall pass.”

Thanks for reading my rant, and I promise something more lighthearted next time. I hope you’re enjoying your time wherever you are, home or abroad– take care.

— Rebecca