This is my first blog post here (yes, now, at the very end). I mean, if I didn’t leave it for the last minute, would it even be BFI? Somehow, between the panic and the uncertainties, we made it through (or almost… two more weeks to go! ). Looking back, each teacher brought their own energy to the BFI. Seb with the iconic overuse of phallic symbols in our literary analyses (interpret as you will, “guys”). At least we emotionally survived on his fraisiers and pineapple cake. Mme Almagro, with her pageless Google Docs that scrolled for eternity. Mme Brisson gave us the epitome of culture générale: endless lists of exemples pour faire briller une copie (barrage de la Narmada still on my mind) and footnotes that could’ve been published as novels. Mr. Buyreu’s history classes were so animated you’d think he was taking the bac, not us. By the third trimester, he was more stressed than we were. And of course, so many more great teachers, even if some of them forgot we had like ten other class...