I lika da sodah
Since I arrived in Chile, there are two things that have continuously made me feel - how should I say this - mentally deficient. (Is that how you spell deficient? see what I mean...)
The first relates to the following excerpt from an email I received from my father (do you love that I'm publishing these things, father?):
'Jei Dóter: Aim sorri zat llu ar sic.'
Now, take a moment to process that, if you can.
...
Anything?
....
No? Well, you would be right about where I was when I received this email if you have no idea what the hell that says. I thought, German?...Hmmm, no that would be weird. But then again...well, it is my father.
But no. Get this - my father was trying to write out this:'Hey Daughter: I'm sorry that you are sick,' except he was trying to write it phonetically as someone who speaks english with a spanish accent.
Clever huh? .....yeah....hmmm...
Anyway, how does this relate to me feeling mentally inferior, you ask? Well, it's because of this: Whenever I use a random english word during a conversation in spanish I have to pronounce it as though I were speaking english with a very thick spanish accent. Otherwise people will just not understand what the hell I just said. Have you ever had a situation where not pronouncing something correctly causes misunderstandings? It's really very very bizarre. But, the thing is that I relax on this matter when I am with people that I know speak some english or will understand. Cut to last weekend when I was with a group of cultured folk some of whom speak english. Imagine us having a conversation about dried, salted meat. Imagine me saying 'Oh! Beef Jerkey!' and then imagine three people repeating the words 'beef jerkey' in a mocking tone trying to imitate the way I say it. Have you ever been in a situation where you felt like a douche for saying things PROPERLY? I don't know if my brain can handle much more of this backwards world.
That's the first thing. The second thing deals with my inherent lack of ability to maintain some kind of balance while I walk. Or, you know, the fact that I fall. A lot.
In the US when you fall you know how people do that thing where they look at you and for a split second they're maybe concerned but then once you hit the floor they're already giggling at your dumbass? I find that comforting. Here, people are actually concerned. Mostly the men because they have to be all chivalrous and help you up and all that shit when what you really wanna do is stand up and walk away like it never happened. But they, meanwhile, wanna have a conversation about whether or not you're okay and how, hey that last step is a doozy.
When my cousin got married (the legal civil ceremony not the church one) I was wearing these pants with cuffs and these heels and I always have this issue with the heel getting trapped in the pants and whatnot. I should probably be more cautious, considering, but alas. Anyway, I was walking down these stairs and right as I was about the reach the end of them my heel gets stuck and I trip and fall down like three steps right into this lovely little mud puddle type thing. I knew that it was bad because when I finally looked up like eight people had stopped in their tracks to look at me and they had an oh-my-god-that-girl-is-definitely-dead expression on their faces. I was actually fine but then I had to have a conversation with the guy who sells juice about how my pants were dirty with mud. At least twice I day I do that little trip thing where you kind of go forward like you're about to start jogging but then catch your balance again. At least twice a day some guy on the street catches my arm like he's the hero of the century that keeps me from falling. Then we have that awkward like 'hee hee thanks...I was just um...waaaahhhh!' and then I cry and run away. I think it's the crying that makes it awkward. Also, the fact that I cannot seem to keep my balance for longer than 10 minutes. It's probably because while I walk I am trying to figure out how I should be saying 'Sprite' so that people understand me when I ask for one.
Espriii?
Eh-sprite?
eh-sprithe?
It's a hard-knock life.
- E
The first relates to the following excerpt from an email I received from my father (do you love that I'm publishing these things, father?):
'Jei Dóter: Aim sorri zat llu ar sic.'
Now, take a moment to process that, if you can.
...
Anything?
....
No? Well, you would be right about where I was when I received this email if you have no idea what the hell that says. I thought, German?...Hmmm, no that would be weird. But then again...well, it is my father.
But no. Get this - my father was trying to write out this:'Hey Daughter: I'm sorry that you are sick,' except he was trying to write it phonetically as someone who speaks english with a spanish accent.
Clever huh? .....yeah....hmmm...
Anyway, how does this relate to me feeling mentally inferior, you ask? Well, it's because of this: Whenever I use a random english word during a conversation in spanish I have to pronounce it as though I were speaking english with a very thick spanish accent. Otherwise people will just not understand what the hell I just said. Have you ever had a situation where not pronouncing something correctly causes misunderstandings? It's really very very bizarre. But, the thing is that I relax on this matter when I am with people that I know speak some english or will understand. Cut to last weekend when I was with a group of cultured folk some of whom speak english. Imagine us having a conversation about dried, salted meat. Imagine me saying 'Oh! Beef Jerkey!' and then imagine three people repeating the words 'beef jerkey' in a mocking tone trying to imitate the way I say it. Have you ever been in a situation where you felt like a douche for saying things PROPERLY? I don't know if my brain can handle much more of this backwards world.
That's the first thing. The second thing deals with my inherent lack of ability to maintain some kind of balance while I walk. Or, you know, the fact that I fall. A lot.
In the US when you fall you know how people do that thing where they look at you and for a split second they're maybe concerned but then once you hit the floor they're already giggling at your dumbass? I find that comforting. Here, people are actually concerned. Mostly the men because they have to be all chivalrous and help you up and all that shit when what you really wanna do is stand up and walk away like it never happened. But they, meanwhile, wanna have a conversation about whether or not you're okay and how, hey that last step is a doozy.
When my cousin got married (the legal civil ceremony not the church one) I was wearing these pants with cuffs and these heels and I always have this issue with the heel getting trapped in the pants and whatnot. I should probably be more cautious, considering, but alas. Anyway, I was walking down these stairs and right as I was about the reach the end of them my heel gets stuck and I trip and fall down like three steps right into this lovely little mud puddle type thing. I knew that it was bad because when I finally looked up like eight people had stopped in their tracks to look at me and they had an oh-my-god-that-girl-is-definitely-dead expression on their faces. I was actually fine but then I had to have a conversation with the guy who sells juice about how my pants were dirty with mud. At least twice I day I do that little trip thing where you kind of go forward like you're about to start jogging but then catch your balance again. At least twice a day some guy on the street catches my arm like he's the hero of the century that keeps me from falling. Then we have that awkward like 'hee hee thanks...I was just um...waaaahhhh!' and then I cry and run away. I think it's the crying that makes it awkward. Also, the fact that I cannot seem to keep my balance for longer than 10 minutes. It's probably because while I walk I am trying to figure out how I should be saying 'Sprite' so that people understand me when I ask for one.
Espriii?
Eh-sprite?
eh-sprithe?
It's a hard-knock life.
- E
posted by Eugenia at 9:11 AM
2 Comments:
The poor balance thing is genetic. And that's all I'm going to say about that.
Esprait, baby!
L
Yiiii! zancs!
Juot abau praibaci?
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