I dropped out of my study abroad program, I don't regret it

By Michelle Armas, Staff Writer

My summer in Paris left an impression on my mind that I can still feel, but can’t put my finger on. It was as if I entered one of Monet’s paintings — half dreamlike, half fading away. Most of all, it was an impression I would never have gotten inside the four walls of a classroom.

I studied French at a university in Paris for two months over the summer. With one week left of my study abroad program, I dropped out.

My time in Paris gleaned of novelty. Sitting in a classroom was something I had known since I was five years old, but the Parisian life was something I couldn’t experience from a textbook.

My days felt like a scrapbook collage of moments. Some consisted of sticky summer days in cafes, sipping espresso; others were getting lost in the city, exploring famous museums where Van Goghs and Monets resided.

It wasn’t in a classroom where I shoved my way into the sweaty metro during rush hour or where I learned the French colloquialisms. And it wasn’t in a classroom where I applied this new language with unforgiving, angry Parisians.

Don’t get me wrong, I loved being a student — it gave me a purpose to go to France. But it was only one tiny sliver of my silver summer.

Another part of the immersive experience I had was due to a friend I met from the South of France. Throughout the program, he introduced me to France from a local lens.

The last week of summer he invited me to spend a week with his family in a town called Avignon. It seemed like a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity — taking the train around the Cote d’Azur and going to a city I would never have gone to if left to my own devices. But this meant I had to miss the final exam.

As I sat in my tiny room, looking at the train ticket, uneasy thoughts trickled in. Since kindergarten, I was conditioned to think the only thing that mattered was the grade. “What will everyone think of me? I must be a lousy student. Maybe I am not a hard worker.” The feelings of unworthiness binded my gut like clothespins.

However, a part of me knew that these thoughts were a product of our education system.

I was a product of an institution that told me grades define learning. Those red marks on my papers haunted me. I had a flashback of lying about my high school SAT and ACT scores so that I didn’t have to admit how horrible I did on them.

At this moment, I had a choice. I could fall victim to the flaws of our education system or take advantage of an opportunity I might never get again. I reminded myself of one of my life mottos: What will I remember in 10 years?

And so I did it. I bought the ticket, went to an obscure medieval town, and spent a week with a French family. I tried their favorite southern wines and cheeses and swam in the Mediterranean. I turned bright red when I tried to communicate, but got more comfortable as time went on.

And so I did it. I bought the ticket, went to an obscure medieval town, and spent a week with a French family. I tried their favorite southern wines and cheeses and swam in the Mediterranean. I turned bright red when I tried to communicate, but got more comfortable as time went on.

Yes, I missed an important exam and didn’t receive credit for a costly class, but I wouldn’t have traded that week for anything.

But most of all, I broke a paradigm. I broke my fear of breaking out of the norm. I did the “what-if” that I always wondered about. I chose to follow my intuition, and through that, I realized my identity didn’t lie in being a perfect student, but rather embracing every opportunity.