Chercher

Chercher by Myracle Newsome 

“I am not the same having seen the moon shine on the other side of the world.” -Mary Anne Radmacher

Please don’t think that I had that quote in my repertoire. It was on the top of the journal page that I began handwriting this piece due to some technical difficulties. The journal is also used — albeit seldomly– to jot down overwhelming, unsolicited emotions and experiences that I’ve had while on this study abroad. I say seldomly, because most of my time recently has been spent basking in the awe-inspiring beauty and uniqueness in these new places and spaces. Before we get down to the nitty-gritty, however, I would like to inform you of how I will write this piece going forward. A first-person narrative, while effective in sharing my own personal endeavors, neither fits my writing style, nor does it directly include my audience as a part of the story. So you’re going to have to trust me on this; follow my lead and come on this adventure with me, s’il vous plait? Parfait.

Take the time to relax and imagine: you were packing for a voyage that you never thought that you would have the chance to take. You’re not the richest person, as a matter of fact you’re rather poor. Nor are you the most intelligent, especially among the various talents in your study abroad cohort. Despite these personal truths, you’re still going to New York, to Paris, to Berlin! Your peers and instructors were a conglomerate of identities that all fit with you under the LGBTQIA+ umbrella that took so long for you to become comfortable with. Soon, you were on a plane to someplace that seemed so mythical and out of reach to your inner not-well-traveled Midwesterner. New York; the hotbed of American queer history and culture, your history and culture. For the first time in a long time, you weren’t afraid to be unapologetically, unabashedly queer.

The museum tours and class time were fun. You learned a lot, but you always found yourself looking forward to the time you spent meandering the streets with your friends. You have the opportunity to explore, so you take it. You found the covertly named “Big Gay Ice Cream Shop” in a hole in the wall along the East Village. The clerks were like you, black and queer and trying to make it out here in the big bad world. Museums were great for certain purposes: historical and cultural contexts of the past. You knew that you do most of your learning in the field by observing and interacting with people living in the present. Even while most of you encounters were fleeting, your soul never failed to feel satisfied, elated, content.

Leaving New York was something that you saw coming. It had been in the class itinerary. You knew you had to pack, but the days prior to departure was full of identity affirmation and excitement. The tour of the Lesbian Herstory Archives somewhat anchored you so tightly to the city you had to leave behind. Til this very moment you can’t believe you’re an official part of the archive all thanks to a failed attempt to impress an intern by flexing your butch muscles in helping a couple others from your cohort assemble a rolling cabinet. You may have gotten to sign the furniture, but you never did get that intern’s number. The day after you attended the best drag show that you’d ever been to, and even got to light the cigarette of one of the queens post-show. The two of you are now mutuals on Instagram.

A change of setting, then. No longer in New York, you found yourself on a seven hour flight to Paris. It was the longest flight you had ever had in your life, which wasn’t particularly difficult due to the sad fact that you’d only ever been on three flights including this one. You were about to step foot on a different continent, something you had never done before. “What would Paris be like?” You contemplate all of the stereotypes and rumors you had heard about France. The people hate Americans (understandable), the streets smell of cheese (this is why the French hate Americans), most places have English speaking employees/owners due to the influx of tourists (again…), the French most popular forms of transport is either by moped or by baguette (you were informed of this when a group of children asked questions about the French during a day where you were volunteering at a middle school. These children were indeed American.). Before you could either confirm whether or not a long loaf of bread was a form of transportation, you and the rest of the passengers on the plane were informed of what would end up being a 20-30 minute delay. Another aircraft was in your plane’s “parking spot” of sorts. Shuttles were meant to come and extract everyone on the plane and you must admit, walking off a staircase attached to the aircraft made you feel somewhat presidential, but it was deterred by the long waits and the even longer train rides to your hotel. All of that to say, you first impression of France was heavily influenced by jet lag and general annoyance toward the world.

Emerging from the tunnel, you soak in your surroundings. The schoolchildren were wrong; no people riding baguettes through the streets of Paris. Those streets were much narrower than you were used to, and the stop lights were interestingly peculiar. The building structures were beautifully cookie-cutter. Each established building took up an entire block, about a fifth of a mile, and were only separated by streets themselves. It would be easy to get lost if you failed to count your blocks, as everything looks both eerily similar yet so distinct. You remember several people walking by you as you and your group walk together toward the hotel. Their words you couldn’t completely comprehend, but you knew from the way they wove their words together as fluidly as a spider crafting its intricate tapestry that you weren’t in America any longer.

You woke up on 22 juin, 2018, your birthday. You had your outfit planned: blue suit, black pants and button down shirt, white tie. This was one of the days you had been looking forward to for years. You finally made it to the Louvre, the royal palace you’d been studying in both French and art history. Lowell had already told you that they would be celebrating your birthday for the length of the class period. As a special treat, you wouldn’t only be going to the Louvre, you would be leading your cohort past the lengthy line of grumbling people. It was petty, but worth it.

You were able walk through marble hallways, get background on giant paintings that should be considered masterworks, but during the time were blasphemous. Your background in art history helped you with a lot of the contexts, compositions, intricacies and general history of many works. You found it particularly entertaining when the class entered the room in which the Mona Lisa was housed. You always thought the work was underwhelming, so you took great joy it photographing everyone who was photographing the Mona Lisa.


Winged Victory was a stellar piece.

And you were shocked when you saw this sculpture of Athena, but you know that you aspire to have that level of reverence at some point in your life.


You enjoyed this. You had a birthday of a lifetime. You have been to places that you never thought you would have had the fund to go. You have people beside you, cheering you on even through your hard days. Yes, despite being on such a spectacular trip, hardships don’t just go away. There are good times and difficult times. There are times where you have to step away and put self-care first. There are days where you have to lean on others to get through. But there are also times where you have long-term, happy memories that you get to make with this special group of people at this special time in your life. Your birthday, while wonderful, was still a hard day for your depression. Though you have to remember the times during the day where someone made you smile, laugh, did something kind for you and you did something kind in return. You’re here to learn and grow, and sometimes both of those processes require pain. You are not the same as you once were. Just don’t forget, you’re looking for something. You’re looking for your history, your humanity, your potential, a place where you belong. Don’t stop searching.

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Thank you for trusting me til the end.

Do not forget. As the French say: chercher.