My Semester in France Essay -- Personal Narrative, essay about myself

thither was a warm breeze that Friday in September when I jammed my two large bags, kissed my family and friends good-bye, and odd my home. Thus the gre takest lark of my flavor was begun. On my prototypical day of studying in France, I woke up early and took a quasi-shower, which consisted of sprinkling myself with water for hours until all the soap ultimately drained out of my hair. My dressing procedures were followed by a still eat that consisted of some bitter-tasting, dark liquid and a hard, bread-like substance. The bread I ate dry, for fear of the dark scary-looking pot of jam. I packed my books and headed aside for class.   As soon as I left my pass, a military personnel on a bike sta cherry at me as he passed. stupid person American, he thought and went about his business. Walking on, I passed a bakeshop with many strange populate inside getting their baguettes. They stared at me as I passed, then they all turned to one another and do different snide re marks about me. They chuckled, destineing I didnt understand anything that they were saying.   When I got to the first stop lower, I waited for the pocket-sized gentlemans gentleman to turn green. The drivers who had a red light chuckled and thought to themselves, That girl has no idea what shes doing. Dont they have street signs in America? Walking along the street, there was a man travel his dog. I smiled at him, and he scowled and thought, Silly Americans. Always pleased at everything. Next I passed a school, where a number of mothers were chatting outside, having fitting dropped their children off They looked at me, then back at each other. wholeness said, Oh my, I wouldnt wear that unless I was an American.   Eventually, I passed a car specify garage. The custody inside looked up a... ...hing to do with me.   I spent a semester twist a life in France. I spent it let go of what I thought and embracing what I never imagined could be true. I learned a gr eat deal about who I am and what I can accomplish. But I think the close to central thing I learned is the magnitude of perception. I think I brought home with me the understanding that the world is more a eon of varying perspectives, than one, defined order. Like the man on the bike and the people on the street and the church service bells-and myself-life is shaped far less by realness than by our perception of it.   I scurried home at the estimable of the church bells, back through the streets of my little town. The air was crisp and parky on that Friday in December when I packed my bags, a little bulkier than before, kissed my family and friends good-bye, And left my home. My Semester in France Essay -- Personal Narrative, essay about myselfThere was a warm breeze that Friday in September when I packed my two large bags, kissed my family and friends good-bye, and left my home. Thus the greatest adventure of my life was begun. On my first day of study ing in France, I woke up early and took a quasi-shower, which consisted of sprinkling myself with water for hours until all the soap finally drained out of my hair. My dressing procedures were followed by a silent breakfast that consisted of some bitter-tasting, dark liquid and a hard, bread-like substance. The bread I ate dry, for fear of the dark scary-looking pot of jam. I packed my books and headed off for class.   As soon as I left my street, a man on a bike stared at me as he passed. Stupid American, he thought and went about his business. Walking on, I passed a bakery with numerous strange people inside getting their baguettes. They stared at me as I passed, then they all turned to one another and made various snide remarks about me. They chuckled, thinking I didnt understand anything that they were saying.   When I got to the first stoplight, I waited for the little man to turn green. The drivers who had a red light chuckled and thought to themselves, That girl has no idea what shes doing. Dont they have street signs in America? Walking along the street, there was a man walking his dog. I smiled at him, and he scowled and thought, Silly Americans. Always smiling at everything. Next I passed a school, where a number of mothers were chatting outside, having just dropped their children off They looked at me, then back at each other. One said, Oh my, I wouldnt wear that unless I was an American.   Eventually, I passed a car repair garage. The men inside looked up a... ...hing to do with me.   I spent a semester building a life in France. I spent it letting go of what I thought and embracing what I never imagined could be true. I learned a great deal about who I am and what I can accomplish. But I think the most important thing I learned is the magnitude of perception. I think I brought home with me the understanding that the world is more a sequence of varying perspectives, than one, defined order. Like the man on the bike and the peop le on the street and the church bells-and myself-life is shaped far less by reality than by our perception of it.   I scurried home at the sound of the church bells, back through the streets of my little town. The air was crisp and cold on that Friday in December when I packed my bags, a little bulkier than before, kissed my family and friends good-bye, And left my home.