ANNIHILATION

THERE ARE TWO PASSIONS that I inherited from my father. The first is to travel. But everyone inherits from someone, or develops the genetic code alone. The second is a little more specific, but very complementary to the first.

Speak another language. To communicate. There is something incredible about talking to someone on the other side of the world and that someone understands. The fact that two people completely strangers to each other sit and understand each other. They talk for a few hours, they leave, they never meet again. But they talked, they understood each other, they spoke another language

It also fascinates me the ability of our brain to flex in such a way that you understand words and sentence constructions that have nothing to do with what you have learned, speak all day and it is just natural for you. There is a point that you stop and think: "I am understanding another language, I am not translating, I am understanding!"

Wow, how wonderful this is! The first time I had this perception with English, I was in a (internal) state of grace that I held a silly smile on. You understand? A person who was born in a country completely different from mine, who eats eggs and bacon in the morning, watches baseball and thinks he lives in the best place in the world sat down, talked to me, told me stories and I understood! There are accents in Brazil that I don't understand, the Portuguese accent itself is an effort to understand, but the girl from the country of fast food, she understood me!
It's really crazy!

Living here in France, it obviously happened, and sometimes I get into this lapse of thinking that I am understanding everything that goes on around me and being amazed.

But French didn't come to play. It came to kill.

I say that I speak Spanish but in fact I speak the good old Portunhol. It is poquito, copito, mi casa, su casa, Shakira, Shakira. And everything was going well. I spoke portunhol.

Until la France got to my brain. And it destroyed my ability to speak portunhol.
IT KILLED IT!
I sometimes came across Spanish speakers here in France, and they would always ask me: "Hablas Español?". I used to answer with "Hablo Portuñol!", and we started talking to each other.
After 4 sentences, I realized that I was not speaking any portunhol. I was speaking French using some Spanish pronouns. How I embarrassed myself, my people!

Another language that French is killing is English. But as the English-French dispute is historic, English resists, but not without being beaten for about 30 minutes. I start mixing the two languages until my brain focuses on the one I want and I start speaking.

For this I did not expect! In fact I thought it would be the opposite, it would be easier to speak Spanish because of French, and that English would not even be part of the game ... but life is a box full of surprises, isn't it?

The French killed my Spanish and is killing my English. And I don't care. I actually think this murder is beautiful. It shows how much strength a little teenage dream that I had and nurtured won. Mon petit serial killer <3

À bientôt, e Perdoe o meu Francês!