Life lately
I’m in Grenoble at my mom’s place. Not sure if she managed to sell her flat. We had a second viewing that didn’t go well. She wasn’t sure which furniture to leave behind. We sorted it out over the weekend. The buyer just needed a bit more clarity, and my mom needed to be better prepared. Poor thing.
Plus, she just couldn’t stop. We moved furniture, cleaned the windows, and generally did everything we needed to do before she heads south for her actual move. When we finally sat down for dinner last night, she was eating at lightning speed, as usual, and then she pulled out her phone to look at flats in Nice. She got rejected for the last one she liked, and she didn’t take the news very well. It’s impossible to find something in Nice. She’s given up.
She’s going to have to stay with her parents in St Raphaël, which isn’t exactly close by, obviously. Anyway, this is just the beginning of a series of problems and questions she’s facing. Will the buyer get their mortgage approved? Will they end up buying after that botched second viewing? Will all the furniture even fit in the garage?
No matter how many times I told her there’s no decision to be made until there’s a decision to make, she kept fueling her uncertainty by asking questions that aren’t really questions. Let me explain.
“Will the buyer get their mortgage approved?” That’s not a question. It’s not even rhetorical. We have no way of knowing the answer. The best we can do is make guesses and waste time worrying. What she really meant was:
“I’m scared the buyer won’t be able to go through with the purchase. I feel guilty for not being better prepared for the second viewing, especially regarding the furniture, and I’m worried it might jeopardize the sale. I don’t know what to do with my furniture. It’s a lot of work. I’m feeling overwhelmed. I need help.”
In the end, her questions were just a more indirect way of expressing an emotion. Stating it outright would have been too direct, too confrontational, not subtle enough. A question implies a response, a need, an action from the other person. Maybe it was just her way of saying, “I need you.”
After starting to read The Culture Map by Erin Meyer, I’ve realized that in France, we tend to communicate more indirectly than, say, in the US. You might find it funny, but while irony isn’t completely absent in the US, you often have to clarify it with a “just kidding.”
Similarly, I think there’s a type of question that shouldn’t be taken literally. The question can be an indirect way of making a statement. You have to read between the lines. You have to guess what’s really behind the question. When I realize someone is too tired to choose their words carefully, I reassure myself that it’s probably just a clumsy way of expressing their need for rest. In the end, there’s nothing to take personally. I often try to remind myself that I don’t know even a quarter of the truth or the context.
Anyway, I spent the weekend in Grenoble, and this afternoon I’m heading back to Paris. I’m returning to the flat I used to live in when I was a student. My cousin Mathieu stayed there during his last school year. I’d offered it to him when he came back from Singapore to start his courses at ESSEC, while I was leaving Paris to move to Bremen for my six-month final internship. He needed the flat for a whole year, so it wasn’t available when I finally decided to settle in Paris, or at least have a base there. It’s a place where I can drop my bags in France and gather all my things in one place. That’s why I’ve held onto my little studio in Paris. It’s less than 15 square meters, but since I’m pretty tidy, it works out fine. I don’t need more space. I’m happy with it. It’s a cozy little nest—sure, it’s a bit dark, but as long as I get out and catch some sunlight, like a little insect, I don’t get too depressed. It’s not a basement, after all. It’s just a flat overlooking a narrow courtyard on the first floor.
I’m looking forward to going back, but I’m waiting for my cousin to move out his things before I really settle in. He’s having trouble finding his next flat in Paris, though he wasn’t really a fan of the nest I’d left him. Too small, not enough light. Let’s just say he might not be as tidy as I am. A small space isn’t exactly ideal in that case.
He’s hoping to share a flat with my sister Louise and her friend Marie-Mathilde. Needless to say, finding a three-person flat share in Paris is a challenge. My sister, who’s at Skema, is doing her work placement in Paris. She’ll be there three weeks out of four since her courses, which take place one week a month, are held in Sophia Antipolis in the south of France, where she’ll stay with our grandparents. Given how expensive rents are and how picky landlords can be, they’ve already had to settle for two-bedroom places with a convertible living room, rather than each having their own room—a luxury (or just some privacy, really) they can’t afford.
So yeah, Mathieu’s still got all his stuff at my place.
Anyway, I won’t be in France for long this week.
