Once you get past the guns, the gangs and the “sweet, sweet Mexican Black Tar Heroin”, there are a lot of positive aspects about moving to Mexico: the opportunity to wander again, to experience a new culture, meet new people, grow as an individual and an educator, learn a new language, eat Mexican food… the list goes on. I’m pretty excited. All parties concerned are (insofar as I am aware) pretty excited. The only thing that really has me worrying (other than the packing… I’m not particularly adept at squashing my entire life into a suitcase...two?... three?…) is the learning of the new language.
Crazy, right?
I know, I know. I’m into languages. I like to talk. I enjoying knowing stuff, being able to do things. This should be right up my alley. And it is, except…
I really dislike doing things I’m not good at. I’m highly competitive and just want to win. At everything. Because in my head, everything is, on one level or another, a competition.
And I’ve never actually had to learn a language before. Both French and English have always just been there. Sure the grammar may not have been overly accurate, but at least I knew enough to get my point across. Even my brief foray into German proved to be relatively successful (if success can be measured in knowing how to say “potato chips”, “hi my name is Jacquie and I live around the corner” and being able to sing not one, but several, Beatles songs in German...). Furthermore, it wasn’t all that difficult.
This, clearly, is because none of these languages incorporate a rolled “r” into their phonemes.
(this is where someone inevitably pipes up with the comment that I’m Canadian and have a serious caffeine addiction… “rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrroll up the rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrim to win” and all that. Ya. Sure. Whatever. I’m a Starbucks girl.)
I can handle the verb conjugations (love it), the memorizing of new vocabulary (my flash cards are unparalleled) and the fumbling-through-the-languages-already-co-existing-in-my-head-when-I’m-desperately-attempting-to-string-words-together-to-form-a-sentence-that-expresses-something-that-somewhat-reflects-what-I’m-trying-to-get-out (“My prima heiß Emma y ella habite en Australie…”). What I can’t handle is the fact that no one can tell whether or not I’m trying to say “pero” or “perro”.
I can’t decide if the Spanish teacher at my school, Sra-Mme-Ms VH, finds this hilarious (she keeps trying to get me to say things like “el perro rojo”) or painful (deduced from the confused-painful facial expression that surfaces and is quickly masked when I attempt to say things such as “Querétaro”). However she feels, she has assured me that this is a common problem for anglophones-whose-second-language-is-French and that my issues are the same ones experienced by just about all of the Immersion students who try their hand at LWS2D1.
And my Spanish instructor Sra Susy (yup, I went there) is, I’m sure, in the same boat as VH. Every time I have to pronounce anything with a rolled “r” I stop, take a deep breath and… try. After which Sra Susy repeats the word and I… try again. Usually this happens three or four times, after which she pauses awkwardly, contemplates the eager-yet-overly-enthusiastic-and-far-too-competitive blonde sitting before her and says something along the lines of “Good. That’s getting better. We’ll keep trying”.
Needless to say, this doesn’t usually satiate my inner perfectionist. Which makes me not want to attempt to speak Spanish to native Spanish speakers, which means that I’ll never improve and will not be able to take the bus for the entire time I live in Mexico. The obvious solution to this problem would be to find a (relatively?) fluent-yet-not-native-Spanish-speaker with whom I can practice.
So I did.
And THAT is why I’m flying to Australia at the end of June.
Crazy, right?
I know, I know. I’m into languages. I like to talk. I enjoying knowing stuff, being able to do things. This should be right up my alley. And it is, except…
I really dislike doing things I’m not good at. I’m highly competitive and just want to win. At everything. Because in my head, everything is, on one level or another, a competition.
And I’ve never actually had to learn a language before. Both French and English have always just been there. Sure the grammar may not have been overly accurate, but at least I knew enough to get my point across. Even my brief foray into German proved to be relatively successful (if success can be measured in knowing how to say “potato chips”, “hi my name is Jacquie and I live around the corner” and being able to sing not one, but several, Beatles songs in German...). Furthermore, it wasn’t all that difficult.
This, clearly, is because none of these languages incorporate a rolled “r” into their phonemes.
(this is where someone inevitably pipes up with the comment that I’m Canadian and have a serious caffeine addiction… “rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrroll up the rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrim to win” and all that. Ya. Sure. Whatever. I’m a Starbucks girl.)
I can handle the verb conjugations (love it), the memorizing of new vocabulary (my flash cards are unparalleled) and the fumbling-through-the-languages-already-co-existing-in-my-head-when-I’m-desperately-attempting-to-string-words-together-to-form-a-sentence-that-expresses-something-that-somewhat-reflects-what-I’m-trying-to-get-out (“My prima heiß Emma y ella habite en Australie…”). What I can’t handle is the fact that no one can tell whether or not I’m trying to say “pero” or “perro”.
I can’t decide if the Spanish teacher at my school, Sra-Mme-Ms VH, finds this hilarious (she keeps trying to get me to say things like “el perro rojo”) or painful (deduced from the confused-painful facial expression that surfaces and is quickly masked when I attempt to say things such as “Querétaro”). However she feels, she has assured me that this is a common problem for anglophones-whose-second-language-is-French and that my issues are the same ones experienced by just about all of the Immersion students who try their hand at LWS2D1.
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| El Perro Rojo |
Needless to say, this doesn’t usually satiate my inner perfectionist. Which makes me not want to attempt to speak Spanish to native Spanish speakers, which means that I’ll never improve and will not be able to take the bus for the entire time I live in Mexico. The obvious solution to this problem would be to find a (relatively?) fluent-yet-not-native-Spanish-speaker with whom I can practice.
So I did.
And THAT is why I’m flying to Australia at the end of June.
