Lost in Translation
One day, you decide to plan to study abroad and within six months you are sitting in a plane on your own wondering if you made the right decision. However, the most striking moment is when you land on the soil of another country and an officer asks you multiple questions about who you are and what are your intentions in another language. Once you passed that interrogatory and left the customs in your back, you are officially called an “alien.” But what does that mean exactly?

According to the United States Department of Homeland Security, an alien is “any person not a citizen or national of the United States.” According to the New Oxford American Dictionary, being alien means “belonging to a foreign country or nation.” According to me, being an alien is being misunderstood on a daily basis in an environment that does not look like, sounds like or feels like your original comfort zone.
Within the first 24 hours spent in Los Angeles, I had already been confronted to a few confused faces when trying to express myself in English. Let’s recall that the French academic system includes mandatory classes in British English. That means not so much about the kids but about the children, more about living in a flat and not in an apartment, and something like “bloody traffic” and not “f****** traffic.” In fact, once I eventually made a good circle of friends in L.A., a few of them had told me that they don’t understand a thing when British people talk to them.
Language barrier is one of the most illustrative examples of the many cultural differences we discuss in this blog. Nevertheless, you don’t realize it until you are put in a position in which the spoken language surrounding you is not your first language. Although I have always been very good in English at school and was often told that I speak like an American, attempting to converse with born-and-raised Americans became my own reality check.
I quickly learned the intricacies of translations and how it is made impossible at times to translate certain sayings or slang talk word-for- word from one language to the other. Within the first 48 hours, the language barrier had already made me feel like a distinct outsider. My first day of college was on December 15, 2008 at Santa Monica College. People had told me how Los Angeles is always under the sun. By listening to these great depictions of “Sunnyland,” I ended up walking to campus in the rain wearing flip-flops and a very light dress with a temperature of 50°F (I have only became comfortable with Fahrenheit degrees over my fourth year by the way).
Once I finally got to our Orientation Day, four different ladies went over a million facts explaining what we’re allowed to do or not as “aliens” living on an F1 student visa in America. Later on, each one of us had to meet one-on-one with a counselor in order to determine which classes to take for the semester.
Little did I know that they were already going to ask me to leave! “So, where do you want to transfer?” she asked. As a freshman entering the American educational system for the very first time, I didn’t understand why she wanted me to leave. At the time, I was convinced that I was going to earn my bachelor’s degree in a community college. And here she is, asking me where I want to “transfer.” It took me about a year to make my choice and to actually understand the differences between state colleges, community colleges and prestigious universities.
This episode was only one of many cultural shocks I have experienced in terms of language barrier. A few days later, as I wanted to purchase my books for the semester, I kept looking for the bookstore on the map and landed in front of the library. In reality, I thought library meant the same thing as “librairie” (aka bookstore) in French, when really it meant this place where you go to study.
Eventually, I caught up with this lack of vocabulary by going to school in L.A. and reading a lot. However, some of the issues I faced with this language barrier were not only a matter of definitions and translations. It also impacted my social life. Since I have always been good with languages and music, I earned the quality of replicating the sounds of languages very well too. At some point, people would not believe that I was actually French.
Have you ever heard an American trying to replicate the French accent? Watch
This is what every single American I’ve met was expecting me to sound like. I was told almost every time I spoke that I had an accent, but it sounded like a Spanish accent, or a Canadian accent, or an accent from the Mid-West, the Valley and even from Michigan. My grandmother even told me that I had to force myself to get my French accent back otherwise I wouldn’t be as charming as I could be. It became so out of hands that I even met a few people who asked me for my passport in order to prove my nationality!
Later on, I became ashamed of reading in class because I knew that people would pick up on my accent as soon as I would miss an intonation or else. Most of the time people tell you that it is “so charming!” than to have an accent, but when you are constantly reminded of your differences, it can become quite oppressing. A few years ago, I kept trying to tell my boss about anime in front of this other intern, but she understood enemies because of my accent. Once they finally got it, the intern started laughing very loud and telling me how weird she thought I was for a second.
Why weird? Is it really that disturbing to hear something different than what you have always been used to? Another lesson that I’ve learned by living abroad is to consider foreigners’ struggles when they try to fit in a culture much different than the one they were raised in.
Do you agree?






