Reflections

There are people in this world who are 100 times less fortunate than yourself.

That's what we're always told when we're growing up and something bad happens or we have to wait for something that we really want. I don't think we really appreciate the truthfulness of this seemingly old cliché until something happens that makes us take stock of what we have and be grateful for it.

It's a shame that it takes a tragedy to highlight the positive aspects of life. I'm not saying that nobody in this world is grateful for the life they lead, that would be totally idiotic of me - deep down we all appreciate our existence on this planet, whether we realise it or not. But I just feel that it's only at times like these that I really think about how lucky I am and how much I don't tell people I'm lucky to have them in my life.

A short post, but one that I hope everyone reading will identify with, and certainly reflect upon.

For my friends: past, present and future.

Kapoosh

Addiction is a cruel word. Yet it's a word I appear to be associating myself with more and more as the days go by. My reason for doing so is that something gets taken away from me (albeit temporarily) and I suddenly realise how reliant I am on that thing/person.

Take for instance my friends. I bet you've never heard of anyone being addicted to their friends, but the more I think about it, the more I realise that I rely on my friends in so many ways. I'm so used to my friends being there to help when things get tough, that being restricted to MSN communication is really pushing me towards the door marked "Give Up". Why live hundreds of miles away and be in intermittent contact when I can just go home and be in constant contact? That said, my friends are all MSN buffs, and are generally able to talk sense into me over MSN. But I miss their voices, the subtle sarcastic tones when they're trying to lighten the mood through a bad (but very effective) joke.

And then there's the material things in life, like money and internet access.

Of course, without money one is thrown in at the deep end and in an episode of Survivor before you know it. But when you have money but can't use it to make life easier, that's when your addiction/reliance takes its toll. I, being the 'safe option' person that I am, brought travellers cheques with me, to exchange when I need to. Much more secure than a hump of cash I thought, and much less expensive than using my bank card. But little did I realise that trying to exchange the cheques for cash in a bank, of all places, would be such a dilemma.

So having partly got over the possibility of running out of cash and not being able to eat in a few days time, I decided to make the most of my new found confidence here, and go along to a meet-up of some other language assistants who arrived yesterday and today. Needless to say, that didn't go to plan (if it did, you probably wouldn't be reading this...) and so I headed back to my 'new home', arriving back to find that my WiFi access had cut out. "I'll just reconnect" I thought, but to no avail. Turns out my wireless network card is more than likely knackered. Kapoosh.

Kapoosh, just like my time here so far. Smashing into brick wall after brick wall. I'm so close to giving up, yet keep wondering whether tomorrow will be so much better that I wonder what I got so upset about. I have a feeling this whole voyage of discovery is going to end in kapoosh though.

Kapoosh.

Whole days of nothingness

It's amazing how days can be long and full of opportunities to do a number of different things. Finish off that thing you started months ago. Start that thing you've been wanting to do for months. Which is great if one free day is all you have. You're more than likely going to get round to doing those things.

But when one has (what appears to be) an infinity of free days, productivity goes down and the days seem longer because of it. A typical example may be:

9am - wake up, go back to sleep

10.30am - wake up again, amble into kitchen and toast some bread

11.30am - put dirty plate in sink, go back to TV

1pm - think about lunch, continue watching TV

3pm - get washed and dressed with intention of going out and doing something

4pm - realise the time and position self in front of computer to surf the net

10pm - realise haven't eaten since breakfast, now can't be bothered to eat and so continue messing around online until can no longer keep eyes open

While this may seem to be a typical lazy person's daily routine, it is more often than not the accidental daily routine of a person who makes plans. The reason the plans never come to fruition? The idea of "doing it later" and then "doing it tomorrow".

And as my year 6 primary school teacher used to tell us every day: "Tomorrow never comes."

Of course, tomorrow always has the intention of coming around, yet somehow never does until time starts running out and these long, carefree days are numbered. Then productivity within daylight hours rockets, and that very person who uttered "I'll do it tomorrow" starts wondering why she didn't get up early every morning and get on with all that needed to be done. Even if she had nothing in particular to do, getting up and setting her mind to finding something might help ignite her imagination so she fills the time she has sensibly. And the chances of that happening are, sans doute, slim.

I suppose tomorrow does come eventually, but this is one mistake we'll (read: I'll) keep on repeating and keep failing to learn from.

Bienvenue à Toulon, faites attention à la vie en descendant du train

There is something to be said about train journeys. Nothing quite beats the worry of watching the countryside zoom past as you obsessively glance over at the luggage racks to make sure your too-heavy-to-lift-yet-alone-steal suitcases are still dangerously stowed in them. And when it comes to get off the train, the wave of panic that you won't manage to lift both cases off in time before the doors close means that you're ready to alight (and practising lifting both at the same time) for at least 20 minutes before the train stops at the platform.

And that is exactly how I behaved on the whole journey from London Waterloo to Toulon. The only time I wasn't obsessing was when I put on my "defenceless female in a strange place" act on the Paris metro to get help in climbing the stairs. Stepping off the (double-decker) TGV in Toulon, I found that I still had flights of stairs to contend with to get to the main reception where my new landlord/flatmate was waiting for me. Except he wasn't. Or so it seemed. So I park myself next to the Welcome office, with suitcases explicitly in view of everyone that walks past, and wait. Two pidgin-French texts later and I'm collected and taken away to my new home.

Now the insecurities set in: do I remember how to make conversation in French? Do I remember how to make conversation? Have I made the biggest mistake of my life by not turning back when I had the chance? Hmmmm...

I don't remember feeling so homesick as I have since I arrived in Toulon. I don't remember ever feeling so shy and insecure that I have to hibernate in my room. But homesick, shy and insecure I have been. Thanks to an excellent WiFi connection, and friends who are as obsessed with MSN and facebook as I am, I've managed to hold onto my sanity in here. The timidity has subsided a bit, and I've been known to venture out into the living room every so often and attempt a conversation with my new flatmate. I even went as far as the city centre the other day.

So now that the unpacking is done, my room neat and tidy (for the next few hours at least), all that remains for me to do is sit back, turn out the lights, ignore the trains rumbling past at ridiculous speeds and watch episodes of Friends over the internet until I'm tired enough to sleep. Then it's time for the same thing again tomorrow, possibly with more escapades into the promised land of my new living room than I managed today.