The more I attend classes at university, the more I feel like I belong in a museum. The big museum of failed and forgotten ideals. Move along, nothing to see here.

The Winter semester started early January, but I can’t seem to put myself into study mode. First, there is my very full-time job. I work in an environment where futile things such as eating and sleeping are almost frowned upon, let alone studying. And then, there is the usual winter blues. Hard to walk to class after a full day of work when it’s cold, windy and pitch black.

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.

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!