Homecoming

I need to apologise to you all, dear readers, for being completely MIA in the last month. Nothing disastrous has happened, in fact quite the opposite: I have actually begun to settle in to a regular routine here in France, and as the constant newness started to go I just felt like there wasn't as much to write about! And then I was at home for Reading Week and super busy, and just enjoying being back with my family and friends, so again my blog took a bit of a back seat. So now that I'm sitting here having finished my first week back in Brittany for stage 2 of my year abroad, I decided it was about time I update you all! I'm going to split the last few weeks into two separate posts: this one will be about the last week of stage 1 and Reading Week, and then I will do another post in the next few days about my first week back. Here we go!

So the last week before I went home really dragged to be perfectly honest. I had a fairly empty weekend which I generally don't like, as ironically I often end up being very unproductive if I have no set plans! I did eventually manage to get some things done like washing, present buying and scanning grant agreements back to Exeter, but that 4 day weekend can be an absolute killer unless I really make an effort to keep myself busy! Ellie and I did use the time to make a slightly pale lemon cake though...despite not having any scales, not knowing how to convert the oven temperature, and completely guessing which of the many French flours was equivalent to self-raising.

Desperate times...

The finished article

Once I got to Tuesday it started to speed up a bit as I had lessons for the rest of the week, and then I was busy packing and getting everything ready to go home. It was a weird week, because on the one hand I was so excited to go home, and so proud that I had made it so far, but it felt like the week before Christmas: I've literally never known time go so slowly!

I wrote a few thoughts down the night before I went home, and thought I'd share a few of them with you here. My overwhelming feeling was pride (and not in the usual not-so-great sense, for once). I couldn't believe I'd actually made it to the end of that 7 weeks without having to go home or having a total breakdown, and the sense of achievement I felt in boarding the plane almost made all the difficulties worth it, just for that (I said almost). I was also unbelievably grateful to God for His incredible faithfulness in sticking with me through the hardest times, and never giving up on me or leaving me, and for carrying me through. It was such a massive moment for me, because I had done something I honestly believed I couldn't do, which I had been dreading for years, and which truly pushed me to my limit. I would say that's the biggest thing I've learnt so far from my YA: that I am stronger and tougher than I thought I was, and that my God is bigger than I thought He was. As I sat in Costa at Southampton airport on probably the worst morning of my life, throwing up every five minutes and shaking, the thought of getting on a plane to come home again in almost 2 months seemed totally unattainable. I don't think I'm over exaggerating (which is rare for me) when I say that nothing in my life has ever seemed more impossible. But, finally, it was done. And words can't really describe how I felt, to be able to say that.

My friend sent me this quote with a few others before I came to France, and although I really liked them at the time, I don't think I truly understood their depth: but this one summed up my feelings on that day perfectly.

"It always seems impossible until it's done"

Nelson Mandela

The seat in Costa where I sat 7 weeks ago, trying not to be sick

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Anyway, after that deep and emotional reflection, on to the fun stuff!! My journey got off to an interesting start, in that I was stopped at French security and asked to unpack my suitcase, which was fairly terrifying, and also really annoying because my bag had been packed and repacked very precisely to fit everything in (I felt a bit like Monica in this clip). So the security unpacked all my stuff while I tried not to weep at the prospect of having to get it all back in...and then he came to the biscuit tin (I had bought my Mum a really cute French biscuit tin as a present. Back to the story) which - as I was so tight on space - I had packed full of underwear. I then had to try and explain to him (in French) that yes that was a biscuit tin, but no it didn't have biscuits in, but in fact my knickers and socks, because my case was so packed. I'm pretty sure he, all the other security staff, and all the other passengers thought I was crazy at this point. He proceeded to unpack all my carefully folded knickers, before saying that yes that was all fine and yes I could repack my case. It then took me about 15 minutes to get it all back in, and the guard had to come back over to lean on it whilst I zipped it shut. Not my finest or most dignified hour. Moving on swiftly.

 So I was slightly concerned I might break down in tears when I got to UK Border Control (that's one of my favourite bits of coming back in to a UK airport...the staff always seem to be so friendly, and make me very glad to be back!) as I often get a bit emotional even after just a few days away! I felt myself tear up a bit when we landed and I saw all the signs in English, and a massive 'Welcome to Southampton' sign, but luckily I managed to keep it together, even when the Border Control person asked me if I had been on holiday: I managed to hurriedly reply 'no actually I'm studying out there and I'm home to see my family and friends' without choking. In fact, I managed to hold it together until I came through arrivals and saw my Mum. And then I cried. But it was OK: it's not the first time I've cried in Costa, and I'm sure it won't be the last.

Back on home soil at last!

After a lovely 24 hours or so at home catching up with Mum and Dad, we were on the M4 to the West Country, and I was at last reunited with my housemates in Exeter!! It's probably not surprising that there was a part of me that worried whether it would be the same when I got back. They had all been living together for almost 2 months while I was in another country, and I must admit I was a bit nervous that things would feel different, or that I would struggle to go back to our uni life after everything that had happened in France, or that they would have moved on without me. Luckily, none of those things were true. We just picked up where we left off, and after half an hour of chatting in the kitchen and then at the pub down the road (which we meant to go to all last year but never actually made it to!) I was reminded how lucky I am to have these people in my life. Super cheesy I know, but then this has been a pretty emotional post throughout, so I thought I'd continue the theme. As far as I felt I had come in France, this group of crazy British students know me better than almost anyone else, and I realised how much I had missed being able to be 100% myself with people who completely share my sense of humour, know all my little quirks and who I have so much history with. Cringey as it sounds, I really felt like a puzzle piece that had been put back in its rightful place!!

The whole week was just amazing: I had told myself that I wouldn't worry about France or put pressure on anything, but just love being back, and I did. I went out for way too many lunches and coffees, and did almost nothing productive, but I had - quite simply - the best week ever. I loved just doing normal things with my friends like going to CU, watching films, having coffee in our favourite places, going up to campus and just hanging out in each other's houses chatting or working (well they worked, I distracted them). I took a woefully small number of photos, but this was mostly because I was so busy enjoying myself that I forgot to take any more! But here are a couple that I did take:

Lunch with the gals

Beautiful Exeter

Tea with Jules

Dragging the boys to a cute teashop

So there you have it! All in all, a week that lived up to my ridiculously high expectations: to have the chance to go back to my wonderful university life when my brain had forced itself to let go and move on (to an extent) in order to really embrace France was such a gift. I felt all week like I was living on bonus, borrowed time, like someone who had been out of uni for years and wished they could go back to their heyday. I felt so lucky not only to have had this life, but to have the chance to appreciate it even more than I did last year, because I had lost it and then found it again.

Roll on February half term!!