Sophomore year was simultaneously the best year of my life and the worst year.  It was the year that I spent in France; learning a new language, a new culture and independence while living more than an ocean away from my home, my family and friends.
For as long as I remember, I have wanted to live in France. The culture, food, language- everything about it entices me.  So when the opportunity arose to apply to a scholarly year abroad program (the Center of international Education Exchange French Year Abroad), I took it. I pleaded with my parents and after some convincing I applied. It wasn’t until March (five worrisome months after I applied) that I got the letter of acceptance.  I was overjoyed and terrified all at once. My mother kept telling me that this would be the best experince of my life, while my father kept telling me that it was a mistake. I chose to ignore my father and just focus on the positive.

The next five months included applying for Visas, getting luggage, shopping and setting up to live in France for the next ten months. When I got to the Boston airport, I had to say goodbye to my family. That was the hardest thing I have ever done. Seeing my sister's face turn beet red with tears, my Dad's eyes turning wet with what he says was a allergy attack. My mothers face not looking sad, but I could tell who was breaking down inside. But I had to leave.

I was convinced that I was ready to be my “myself” (with a family that I didn’t know) for the next year.  I was positive that I could speak French every hour of every day for the next ten months.  I was not expecting what was to come.

As soon as I got there everything was in French.  No one in the small village where I lived, Muret-le-Chateau, spoke English.  I felt so alone.  For the first month my routine was:  Wake up, go to school, go fencing, go “home”, go to sleep and repeat.  It was hard since there was a language barrier between me and the other students, to make friends.  I went from being one of the smartest in my class to one of the slowest.
But little by little I learned a new word, a phrase.  I built up my vocabulary.  I started making friends.  By mid-December, I really felt like I was home.  January February, March, April, May came and went in the blink of an eye. I consumed the French language. I could make jokes (that people would actually laugh at). I read George Orwell’s 1984, and understood it all, even though it was in French. I began to actually love it there.
But all good things have to come to an end. June tenth I packed all my belongings in the same bags that I came to France with. I left my host families house with my clothes and belongings. But I also left with something else that day. I left with a sense of pride that I have never felt before. After that year, I knew that I could do anything that I set my mind to. As long as I give it my best I will be able to accomplish anything