It was cold but nice yesterday night and for a second, I humored myself with the thought that Weather Canada could be wrong. Of course, it wasn’t. It never is. Weather is what Canadians predict best.

The wind was extremely strong this morning and I could barely keep my head up while waiting for the bus. Mind you, I had time to practice — it was 30 minutes late.

I have always been fascinated by North American high schools and universities. They seemed to have so many rituals, so many traditions that I felt we were really missing out in France. Take graduation, for instance. One of the rite of passage in France is the “baccalauréat”, the national high school graduation exam. But it quite different from the North America graduation exam.

Some of my core values were challenged at one point or another after I moved to Canada. I had to reconsider what I had been taught as a French. What I had blindly believed in for all the years I spent in France. What had been passed on to me by my parents and by the education system.

Even the slightest things.

My oral exam lasted exactly three minutes. It may have something to do with the fact I wrote in big bold letter “I am French !” in answer to the question “where did you learn French?” in the preliminary questionnaire. The examiner was a nice guy and admitted there was no point in testing me any further. Phew, thanks.

At university, I feel like an alien among students.

when the class started in September, and when it was still hot, I felt like a nerd in the middle of a bunch of wanna-be strippers. Since when did mini-shorts and backless shirts become the students’ uniform? Gosh, I was once kicked out of class — admittedly in high school – because I wore jeans with holes in the knees!