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Archive For August, 2012

Hi. My name is Nikki and I am an addict.

August 21, 2012 · by Nikki

Addiction is a very serious thing.

The Collins English Dictionary defines addiction as follows: the condition of being abnormally dependent on some habit.

I am publishing, for the first time ever, that I am an addict. I am taking the first step, with all of you as my witnesses, to end my addiction. I’m asking for the help of my friends, my family, and any other readers out there to join me in my well-overdue, virtual intervention.

I am addicted to excuses.

For the past 15 months, I have been living in France, and I don’t speak (much) French. And until now, I have been dependent on the habit of excuses, which have enabled me to continue my life in this way. Here are the tools I have been using to sell myself short:

I work in English
I don’t know enough grammar yet
I don’t know enough vocabulary
I don’t want to sound stupid
I’m afraid of making mistakes
I don’t want people to laugh at me when I speak
I can’t express myself fully

And on, and on.

This is the moment where I am airing my dirty laundry, admitting my fault, and holding myself accountable to all of you.

I have reblogged something from Sojourning Abroad that has served as my wake-up call. You can read it, here. The video in this post has highlighted for me that my excuses, not my lack of knowledge, are the reasons I do not speak French yet, and has given me the sense to understand my next steps. Thanks in advance to everyone for helping to end my addiction to excuses. It’s time to come clean and speak French!

If you can, take the time to watch the video posted by Sojourning Abroad in this post. Maybe you, too, can find the motivation to learn another language!

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August 21, 2012 · by Nikki

A post that has inspired me like few others…

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Why I Think You SHOULD Have to Press 1 for English

August 16, 2012 · by Nikki

About a year or so before moving to Paris, I was driving down the road and saw this gem of a bumper sticker:

“Patriotic” or pathetic?
image copyright: zazzle.com

I was offended even then, because I happen to think it’s a very close-minded view surrounding language (regardless of your views on immigration control, multi-language support should be a no-brainer). But a recent event has brought me back to my thoughts on this lovely little message.

Most of the time I’m able to get by in Paris without being reminded of the fact that I’m an outsider, but every so often it gets thrust into my face. This weekend, while talking with Frog prince as we readied ourselves for a game of tennis, I heard a gruff voice sharply say “Speak French!” I looked up to see the man on the court next to ours staring at me. He was startled by the fact that I stared back (in disbelief, on my part), and raised a hand to say, unconvincingly, “I’m just joking,” and continued on with his match.

His shocking outburst got me thinking: Of course I think it’s important to learn the local language when you relocate to a new country. So much so, that I would recommend requiring immigrants to take some form of structured language courses as a mandatory part of the immigration process. But if I am having a private conversation with someone, how dare you tell me that I should have that conversation in any other language than the one I choose?!W hen interacting on a business level (at shops, ordering food, at the post office, etc.), I make all efforts to go French or go home. But even if I were perfectly fluent in French, there’s a good chance I would still be speaking in English, at least most of the time, to my boyfriend, since that’s how our relationship got started.

At that moment, I suddenly remembered that gloriously inconsiderate bumper sticker I saw so long ago, and I asked myself: when people hear someone speaking a foreign language, do they assume that they can’t speak the local one? Has it occurred to people that someone speaking, Spanish, for example, might also speak English? Have we forgotten what it means to support each other? Is offering a telephone menu in more than one language really un-American? Because, last time I checked, it was the contrary…

A more comical approach to the dialing debate 🙂
copyright: memegenerator.net

Until you’ve lived the life of an immigrant making efforts to learn a new local language, you can’t truly know the struggles that such a process encompasses. Remember that just because someone is an immigrant or is speaking a language other than the local one, that they probably ARE making efforts to learn, and may already be pretty well-versed in this new language. This doesn’t eliminate the benefits of offering multiple languages on phone menus, and if you’re an English-speaker, it certainly doesn’t hinder your phone experience. So thanks, most US businesses, for offering those often English-speaking immigrants the option to do some important things over the phone in their native tongue. We are not as ignorant a country as we may seem…

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France v USA: Competition of Olympic Proportions

August 2, 2012 · by Nikki

Competitive? Yes I am.

And I’m not afraid to admit that I’m generally a sore loser. Yeah, that’s right, I said it: I don’t like to lose. So what?

Now that the Olympics are on, I get to be vicariously competitive by watching sports that are rarely highlighted on (inter)national television. It’s great. And I get to watch everything right from the heart of the United States’ biggest rivals.

No, I’m not in China! Oh wait, they’re our biggest Olympic rivals? Well, not when you’re an American living in France. In my world, it’s “China Schmina.” Yes, I want us to win the medal race and watch my compatriots rise to Olympic glory, but what I really enjoy is when we beat the French.

Unfair advantage rooting for the US, you say? Try telling that to the US men’s 4X100 relay swim team, who were leading the race until two things happened: the amazing Yannick Agnel got into the pool for the final leg of the relay, and my dear friend Courtney (who, despite the following blunder, is cool, so check out her blog) said the dreaded words “there’s no way France is going to beat us now,” after which we were swiftly ousted from the gold medal position. Thank you both. 🙂

Okay, silver’s not all that bad. And they look pretty happy. But still! (Rob Schumacher-USA TODAY Sports)

My only consolation was that earlier in the day, the US men’s basketball team trampled France to win by a nearly 30-point margin.

Sorry TP
(image by Bob Donnan, USA TODAY Sports)

Maybe I’m just being a brat (it wouldn’t be at all out of character for me), but YOU try sitting in a room full of French people who cheer heartily against your homeland. You’d forget about China, too.

And no, this isn’t just nationalistic ignorance where I spew that the United States is the best country in the world, or some other silly nonsense. But just like the New England Patriots are my team, when it comes to the Olympics, the US is my team.

Okay and maaaaybe I admit that when the US isn’t competing, I might support France. Allez! 🙂

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A Trifecta of French Frustrations

August 1, 2012 · by Nikki

They say things happen in threes. I hope that’s true, because if I experience another run-in with the Parisian rudeness that I have been actively assuring others doesn’t exist, I might just lose my mind.

After gaining the confidence to try to speak some French in public, I have been surely and swiftly knocked off of my little pedestal. For a city that is known for its culture and class, the people here certainly can lack tact. Here’s a recap of my descent from moderately confident to fearing foreigner:

At my neighborhood grocery store, an old lady asked me where she could find a “boite de sel,” or, a box of salt. Not knowing the answer (or what exactly a BOX of salt was), I told her, in French, that I would ask someone. She understood me and thanked me for offering to help. I found the nearest grocery store employee, to whom I said: “Je cherche une boite de sel…?” knowing that I was looking for something rather odd. His response: “Vous n’êtes pas français, hmm?” (or, “you’re not French…”). He then laughs, and follows me to the aisle where the old lady is searching. Um… did I make a mistake here? Am I speaking so unintelligibly that you cannot understand me? Obviously not. So stop focusing on the fact that I’m not French and tell me where we can find a freaking box of salt, damn it!
At a restaurant ordering lunch last weekend, a waiter makes a joke about what I’m ordering in French. I smile politely and nod, not even realizing he was making a joke, which prompts him to ask Frog Prince why I didn’t get the joke. He of course responded that I don’t really speak French. At the end of the meal, the waiter looks me in the eye and asks me in French if my plate was good. I responded “C’était bon!” Meaning, it was good. At which point he proceeded to sarcastically ask me if it was “bon ou bonne?” in an attempt to correct my French, and he was in fact, making a mistake (insert French grammar lesson about masculine and feminine forms, here). Nice try, buddy. I didn’t realize French teachers also worked as waiters on Sundays.
On the same day as incident number 2, we were at the lake enjoying the rare Paris sunshine. Somehow we started playing football (soccer) with a little boy nearby. The great thing about little kids is that I can speak to them in French, probably making plenty of mistakes, but they totally understand me and don’t judge me at all. However, a group of pretentious mommies who arrived after our game of football had started, who sat themselves directly adjacent to our playful little match, proceeded to tell us we were playing too close to their children, and DO like to judge. Apparently they heard me speaking to the little boy and felt that my French was sub-par and felt it necessary to talk among themselves about my poor language skills. After being informed of their comments to each other, overheard by Frog Prince, that I should learn how to properly speak French, we decided to ignore their warnings and played until they left. Hopefully, they went to find something better to do, like pay attention to that baby they were so damned worried about that they strategically placed him near an ongoing football game.

A photo from our day at the lake – which would have been exceptional if not for some mean mommies 😦

To be completely honest, after getting home from the lake and having all three incidents hit me at once… I cried. For the first time since moving to Paris, I cried solely because I felt so completely frustrated with living here. On the bright side, it took me almost a year and a half to reach this point.

But have no fear, friends, family, and faithful readers… after my pity party passed, I have made a resolution: I’m gonna learn the SHIT out of this language, if for no other reason than to go back to that waiter and tell him what I think of his français de merde. After my meal is finished, of course.

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