Lost In Translation

So, I was born and raised in Brazil. My family moved here in 1998. I turned 17 in July and we moved shortly after in September. I still remember looking back through the car window and seeing my grandma and granduncle waving goodbye. I will never forget the sad look on my granduncle's face. He lived with us and my sister and I took care of him. We would cook his meals, clean his room, and wash his clothes. I tell you, that kind of service makes you love the person you're serving. And I loved him. I even named one of my children after him. Anyway, I also remember looking at the house I grew up in for the last time and wondering when would be the next time I would be walking through those doors again.

I remember landing in Newark and being able to see the Twin Towers. I have learned about it in my English class. We had pictures of them in our textbook. It felt surreal to see it with my own eyes and to hear everyone speaking this language I couldn't understand but was so familiar from movies.

My first cultural shock experience? Going to a public restroom, sitting down to do my business, looking up, and bam, a massive gap... I could see people standing outside my stall and the sickening realization that if I could see them, that meant they could see me!!!!! "Who in the freaking world would come up with this dumb design??? Have they no understanding of privacy???" Yah, I never used a restroom so fast in my life. I just wanted to be done and out of there.

Anyway, after arriving, I went to High School. I started as a Junior, did my two years, and went on to College for another two and a half. So, have you heard of formative years? That stage when you transition to being an adult? Well, the crucial period of my formative years were mostly spent here.

When I finally got to go to Brazil again, I was 22 years old.

I never felt American. I was always Brazilian living in America. I never noticed myself changing. My Brazilian heritage felt very alive within me. It still does. However, here lately, after talking to my sister about it, I realized something I never noticed before. I feel in English..... I was shocked at this realization.

So many things made sense once I admitted it to myself. It explains why, although my husband speaks perfect Portuguese, whenever we have to talk about something serious we naturally do it in English. The other day I was trying to imagine having a "heart to heart" with my husband in Portuguese and it felt artificial, weird.

And then I think about this blog. I tried to write it in Portuguese. I did write in Portuguese... Until I switched. It feel a lot more natural to write about things I feel and think. I feel more eloquent (although I'm very well aware that I am not). I feel that words flow better...

It is a weird concept to grasp unless you've lived it, I guess. And even if one has lived it, it's hard to accept it. I have been a skeptic my whole life living in America. I always frowned at those Brazilians that have hardly lived in the US and yet they only express themselves in English. I think I might still reserve a certain degree of prejudice towards those that don't speak the language well but insist on speaking to me in English. But I need to stop. All of our brains are wired differently.

I always thought my brain was and always will be wired in Portuguese. Now, the more I analyze the possibility of it being wired differently, the more sense it makes... I have lived most of my life in the US now.

I guess I'm one of those "lost in translation" kinds. I insist on trying to express myself in my mother language but once I surrender to my formative years language things just flow more naturally. Of course I still make grammar errors when I speak or write, especially after the boys were born and I speak mostly in Portuguese at home. But I guess my heart is Brazilian and my brain has turned American...

And I'm fine with that.