Tales of a wandering lesbian

Words

Here is the English version of the Italian post from a couple of days ago.  I used a different online translator to convert it back from Italian to English.  I think it’s a nice demonstration of why I’m worried about not knowing the language.  I’m pretty sure this is what I sould like when I speak Italian:

The words are iportante. I say the all time. That he is l’ only thing that me renders nervous for my return in Italy and l’ adventure beyond. The words.

They have grown with a mother who was an English teacher. I have studied law and has written for a life. The words are my friends. They are my instruments, mine defense, my crews. More than every other thing, words mean humor. I am a funny person. In reality, I am enough funny.

But, my humour is in great part depends from intelligence and comic times. And ‘ something that I have cultivated so as to use in order to break off the ice with new persons, like diplomatic instrument in the tension situations, and equally general divertimento. Without mastery of the language, I will have to resort to the physical comicità.

I know that to this it allows me adventure to learn a lot on same me. It will be strip via what task I and leave me with my Core. They are ready to let to the shoulders the consumismo. They are ready to let to the shoulders ” l’ lawyer “. I am not thus sure that I am ready to let to the shoulders l’ humour. I suppose that it says something to me.

The slid week, my mother has asked to me if I have fear. I have said that I am not – and I am indeed not. I feel as if you were ready in order to know same me. Creed that not only I expected l’ learning would have begun thus soon.

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4 comments

1 Mo { 09.10.09 at 9:45 am }

Reading your translated text made me giggle for a moment Kristen, but it also made me ponder and reflect what my mother’s experience must have been like. In a way I never had before. She was a Korean woman who immigrated to the United States with very little English under her belt. Granted, she moved here with her American husband and baby daughter. I knew all that. But I had never stopped to think about what a vivacious and social woman she was and how that shaped her experiences here. How frustrating and limiting and alternately how much that spurred her on to master her new language. I remember “teaching” her what swear words meant in our backyard. I still laugh out loud at the expressions on her face! I miss my mom and regret that I can’t sit down with her and learn more of who she was not in the context of the role of my “mother”. It was a surprise to read your blog and have it give me a window to see her that way. BTW, my mom was a riot. Seriously she was a funny funny lady in any language. You are too.

2 The Ant { 09.10.09 at 11:17 am }

HA! I guess whoever “they” are, were correct when they said “It’s all in the translation”.

3 Comforts | Mid Leap { 12.27.09 at 3:37 pm }

[…] prepare myself for certain things.  Like not having a place of my own, or the loss of language and humor.  I expected it to be hard in some respects, in truth the hard is part of what I was looking […]

4 Transitional | Mid Leap { 01.21.10 at 12:41 am }

[…] to go traveling, I knew some of the things I was getting into.  I thought about the loss of language.  I agonized over leaving my house and also over leaving my home.  Traveling through Italy, I […]

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