Ma Copine

So, late at night seems to be the only time when I enjoy writing. Maybe I’ve conditioned myself through the past 4 years of high school – procrastinating until the very last moment on papers forced my mind to only operate late at night. I’ve basically screwed myself over for the rest of my life. Habits are easier to make than to break.

I decided that I’m going to address the language barrier. It’s so intimidating. So many people react so differently to your feeble attempts to communicate with them. Reactions ranged from encouragement to straight up disapproval. I would say that my best conversation was with one kind shopkeeper – she was the seller of les parapluries – umbrellas – and I, on my own (my usual lifesaver, Jessica - the person upon who I depended to carry me through French conversation was calling her parents in a nearby payphone), carried a conversation with this lovely lady who not only was patient and understanding but also encouraging and rescued my drowning lingual self from complete embarrassment. I was so proud when I walked out of that shop, firmly clutching my brand-new designer umbrella and a new confidence in a language that has always eluded me.

But, every language has its catches, for lack of a better word. And in French, if you use a possessive pronoun to describe a relationship, the relationship becomes very personal indeed. For example, if I described one of my friends as “une copine” (a girlfriend), it mean she is a good girl friend. She is a chum, someone I with whom I paint my fingernails and with whom I gawk at beautiful men and squeal when our favorite song comes on the radio. “Ma copine” (my girlfriend) literally means my girlfriend. Which is a relationship I do not have, being I am a girl that likes boys veryyyy very much. So don’t make the biggest little grammatical mistake of telling a cute French boy that your friend is “ma copine” – though it didn’t seem to deter the creep hitting on Jessica, we definitely did not intend on giving him the impression that we weren’t interested in him merely because we swung the opposite way.

Whoops.

So, my lesson of the day could be one of two things.

1)      Learn the language entirely before you visit a foreign country so you don’t accidentally tell a native that you are visiting with your lesbian girlfriend.

2)      Or just give up entirely on language because, after you turn 12 (depending on different psychological sources), you cannot achieve true fluency in another language and you will never be able to communicate perfectly with those of another tongue. Be That American.

It’s basically a lose-lose situation. What I learned is that you have to throw yourself out there. Try to communicate well, and if that ship goes down in flames, the worst that can happen is you walk away from a situation either entirely oblivious of what just went down or just plain embarrassed. But what’s life without embarrassing moments?

Peace out, girl scout.