Gris

That's the color it is outside. I'm sure you can guess what it is in English.

It started getting warmer. Springier. Little rosebuds of hope for warmer weather started opening up. Le printemps arrive . . . spring is here . . . that was in the air for a while. But now, a retrograde. Glacial winds sweep through the air, but I refuse to pull my winter coat back out. I refuse to wear the same sweaters I wore the first three months. Lately, despite it all, the sun would still manage to make its way out. Not today.

Walking to class this morning, I stuffed my ears full of iPod buds only to find that my iPod was out of power.

There are some hard truths settling in my stomach. Realities converging upon me that make me tremble. Worries, wishful thinking, weakness. Powerlessness. Rationalize it into oblivion. Just keep going, just keep waking up, getting out of bed, doing your homework, counting down the days to avoid facing it. Keep your head in the clouds, look out of windows, take walks by the river, take pictures of the sunset, hold innocent children in your arms, laugh, write postcards, stay busy, wish it away. Do whatever is necessary to keep from facing it.

Think about trying to explain African-American identity to a Vietnamese nun while watching a sound bite of Obama at the Global Nuclear Summit dubbed over in French. "But he's not very black," she said. "Like you." Think about the life of a Kurdish man by way of Turkey who's filmed documentaries, wants to go to Paris to get a Masters in Film, dreams of going to Hollywood, and says capitalism is the source of the world's woes. Think about the purple-tinged faux-hawk of a carefree Chinese kid who's caught between criticizing his country's government and admitting that things have changed for the better. Think about appreciating Simon Baker's (an Australian actor who's played in American movies and TV shows with an American accent) beauty with a pretty, perky Aussie. Think about walking to class with the Colombian boys, squeezing in a quick Spanish lesson before settling down to French for the rest of the day. Think about how funny it was when your prof pronounced "gangster" like "gahng-STEHR" or when one of your classmates pronounced "Gulliver" like "GOO-lee-vehr" or when your host mother, when describing how her grandchildren love McDonald's chicken nuggets, pronounced them as "noo-ZSHAY."

Not as stolid and virtuous as facing it, I know. But at least it helps to recognize that there has definitely been more color in my experiences here thus far than the gris today might lead me to believe.