Done

It's over... and we brought the pain (and cheeses, hors d'oeuvres, pastries and pizzas, wines, beers, and cocktails) to celebrate. I've sampled the full menu dégustation of grad school and expat experiences—

• the amuse-bouche of homesickness coated in culture shock,
• the mille feuille whose layers still couldn't outnumber the documents asked of me by the French administration, 
• the oh-so-trendy gazpacho of French intellectual society, seasoned with academic bewilderment and self-doubt, but also boasting a memorable aftertaste of wonderment,
• the tartare of cheap airfare, which might be raw but gets you from point A to B and leaves you with such eye-opening experiences memories, no matter how much you swear you'll never order it again, you know you won't resist the next time you see it on the menu,
• the côte de late nights in lab, in son jus de old data sets, garnished with the remnants of the day's failed experiments
• the assiette de expats from across the globe who occupy lab benches around campus, a diverse selection whose flavors complement each other quite well on a Friday night
• the delightfully decorated éclair of gorgeous Parisian architecture, proudly displayed for the admiration of many passersby, whose inner filling of French housing disasters is only understood by those who have really tasted Paris,
• and of course, to pair with the meal, a glass of French culture, with some notes of tongue twisters followed by a rich, full-bodied culinary history with an unmistakable undertone of c'est pas possible (can't forget this is France), finishing with a hint of- do I detect this?- some fondness for all things Anglo-American.

Yes, you can now call me Dr. Mimi.

The newly minted doctor, fresh out of the D-Fence.

It's been just a little over five years since I boarded a plane armed with my first French visa and a few suitcases. And I've finally finished what I came for.