And Aubrey Was Her Name...

Like a lovely melody that everyone can sing; take away the words that rhyme, it doesn't mean a thing.

Thursday, April 16, 2009

I Think I Can, I Think I Can

When I'm writing, I always find that I fight this duality in me: one girl who wants to curse, spit on the floor, and tell off the world; the other who wears pink with pretty flowers in her hair and showcases a perpetual look of doe-like innocence. In short, when I attempt pessimism, the optimism always drops by to leave the last word. Anyway, you have been warned.

So, I didn't get the job in France. And I'm gutted. True, it was just an assistantship. And with my work experience and opening my own damn school over here, I was wickedly over-qualified. But I feel devastated. I allowed myself exactly one day to cry, feel terribly sorry for myself, make others who had to be around me that day feel unreasonably guilty, and then I stopped. What's the next step?

I decided that I have two viable options. Firstly, I could go home for the summer, then return to Korea to oversee the future potential expansion of our school. I love the business aspects of this job (I don't believe anyone was betting on me to love the business world), and always tell my business partner that I would remain here forever if only Korea weren't actually in Korea. Anyway, the other option is to take a page out of "Say Anything" and stand, John Cusack-like, outside the window of France with a boom box on my head, trying to play a song and win her affection. (Did that work for him? I wasn't old enough to have commited any larger portion of that film to memory.)

After some consideration, some wise counsel (including Jess clearly telling me over the phone, "Aubrey, we've been over this before. Korea's been good for you, but it's enough. You're done there."), and the general gagging induced by the thought of signing on for much longer living here, I have decided that I must go for France.

I have no possible reason to stay there beyond the length of a tourist. I have no job prospects, nowhere to live. My sister is there, but I detest the thought of showing up expectantly at her doorstep. Yet I cannot escape the lure of being in a place I have always loved so dearly and with a language that turns my heart into butterflies. I will keep searching for opportunities, including university study, to keep me long-term in the country.

Some people move places to see about a boy. I need to move to see about a country.

___

By the way, in a final twist of irony, I received notice the other day that I passed the DELF B1 test, a rather difficult language test that presents you with a "Diploma" proving your efficacy in French and ability to communicate within a business or school. This is the ultimate anti-climactic cheer for myself.