I speak Franglais?

I like it that I grew up in a multi-lingual environment, and that I have opportunity to live abroad and experience new languages in the process. At present, I use either English or French in my daily conversations and they are slowly mergin to take life on its own. Slightly alarmingly for me is to find a plateau in my grasp of French and at the same time a regression in my use of English…

Lately, I find myself saying things like “his father” and “her mother” despite referring to the parents of a same friend (who is not both male and female at the same time, I assure you), asking a colleague if she has “taken her tickets” for a conference trip, and I “make (someone) a present” even if it’s store-bought and directly gift-wrapped (lovingly chosen, of course).

In another word, I’m beginning to literally translate from French to English (“son père”, “sa mère”, “prendre les billets”, “faire un cadeau”), and therefore committing the very same errors that I used to correct my Francophone friends from making! I know this is not strictly Franglais in the traditional sense – I don’t often speak in either one language then pepper it with words from the other – but what else would you call it? Confused foreign-speaker?

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I am bemused each time I read an article exclaiming that Mont St Michel is a short day trip away from Paris, and this includes Rick Steves’ claim of it being an easy day trip. Maybe, if you are a staunch believer of around-every-country-in-Europe-in-30-days kind of tourism…?

Let’s established a couple of basic things here. Given 24 hours in a day, and assuming one gets a good 8-hours sleep, we’re left with 16 hours for all activities in a day. If you need an hour or so to get ready in the morning – shower, personal grooming, breakfast (and coffee!) – now we’re down to 15 hours available for the day to play tourist etc.

The Mont St Michel is a beautiful site and I highly recommend it to anyone who’s pondering whether to go or not. Situated at the boundary between Normandy and Brittany, it was assigned Unesco World Heritage Site all the way back in 1979 (before I was even born!) and attracts reasonable number of visitors each year. It is also, however, some 360km away from Paris. Not exactly the next town over.

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Writing a personal blog should be easy, right? After all, these are my experiences that I’m trying to put to pages. However, every so often, I find myself starting little snippets and then paused, not entirely sure how to finish them up without putting everyone to sleep, and all the while thinking “why would anybody think they are interesting?”.

The following is the equivalent of the text on type-written-but-crumpled-on-the-floor pages. Maybe I will revisit them one day, but it’s a lot likely that I won’t. At least I can now get rid of the random text documents – we shall be exploring the theme of “thing I don’t have since moving to Paris” today – sitting in my draft folder. ;)

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First year uni, freshers’ week. I still remember the flutters in my stomach the first time I received a text message from this cute guy I have just met the previous evening, signed off with “kisses”. A mere hour later, another guy I also met during the same social event, also attaching “kisses” to the end of his email. Surely I cannot suddenly be so popular for everyone to be sending kisses my way?

Ah, the naïveté that was me in my youth, and on getting to know the charming “Latin-Europeans” – mainly French, Italian and Spanish – for the first time.

Little did I know, those kisses were merely equivalent to the air/cheek kisses I’ve been getting in greetings to say hello and goodbye, only in these cases, in written form. Had I received a message from a girl that ended with “kisses”, I probably would have think twice about its significance and not jump onto the “someone-had-a-crush-on-me?” bandwagon. The other shoe dropped when some of my new Latin-European friends, of both genders, concluded their text messages or emails with “kiss kiss”. Aaaahhh…

Embarrassing, right? Oh well, at least for a little while, I felt the thrill of the geeky girl who garnered the attention normally reserved for the homecoming queen ;)

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Yet another year in which I fail to make it home for Cheng Beng – a customary “festival” similar to that of All Souls Day on a Christian calendar.

The last time I participated in the tending of our family ancestors’ graves was just before I moved to Europe, half a lifetime ago. Normally the timing simply didn’t work with my schedule but this year, it came incredibly close. I was home for my brother’s wedding recently, and it crossed my mind to extend my holiday so I can finally join my family on this year’s occasion. However, with work being incredibly busy, I didn’t feel it was appropriate to tack on another week to my ten days trip.

And thus, rather peculiarly, I have cemetery in my mind. I think back to the Asian-styled tomb and final resting place of people near and dear to me, and at every turn, I also get flashbacks to the cemeteries that I’ve visited in Paris. Normally, according to my grandmother, one should not go to a cemetery bar specific event (like a funeral) or occasion (like Cheng Beng). However, I am less particular about keeping away from the Parisian cemeteries.

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One of the best thing about living in Paris is the ease one escapes from Paris. Ownership of a private mean of transportation optional.

For someone who likes to travel, this is essential. Paris being a massive travel hub means I could either take the RER/Transilien to visit areas in Ile-de-France, the main rail services for trips around France and all its neighbouring countries (and then some), as well as flights to the rest of the world. I know, there are bus options to travel around Europe too, but I’d rather pay a wee bit more and shorten the travel time, given I don’t exactly have unlimited paid holiday to take.

And well have I been busy taking advantage of this in the last twelve months or what… February (as in 2 months ago) was the only month in which I stay put in entirety in Paris. If it hadn’t been a short month, who knows where I could have jaunted into? ;)

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Ce n’est pas mal. (more commonly, C’est pas mal.)
Ce n’est pas terrible. (ditto, C’est pas terrible.)

Translating word by word, what we have are “it is not bad” and “it is not terrible”. They are conveying messages along similar vein, no? Where we didn’t think it’s good but it’s still, you know, alright I guess. Acceptable.

These phrases are easy to remember; the words not too complicated for a foreigner. Quelle déception! Instead, we would inevitably use them incorrectly. This is how cross-messages happened, until one day, light bulb moment – ding! Mais franchement, I think French people are trying to mess with our heads… ;)

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Returning from my short visit to Sri Lanka, I’ve been asked on numerous occasions my perceptions and thoughts of the country. I find this relatively difficult to respond, as every observer notices different things. Even though Claire and I travelled together, I’d bet my last euro that what she thinks of the trip would be quite different from mine, plus some common points of course.

Buddhism
While knowing the fact that Buddhism is practiced by the majority of Sri Lankans, until my arrival, I simply had not realised just how significant its presence is. Everywhere we went, we would come across a Bo tree which under sat a statue of Buddha, or a simple shrine at the edge of a road, or a large temple overlooking the turn of a bend, or magnificent (and historic) complexes attended by many for prayers and ceremonies.

It also served to remind me that the root of Buddhism lies in South Asia, despite the main practising strongholds of Buddhism and its related/linked religions being East and South-East Asia. The iconographic representations of Buddha are noticeably rather distinct here from those of other parts of Asia. It also highlights how prayers are conducted quite differently from these fractions of Buddhism, yet at the same time hold through the practice of calm meditations. I find them all quite fascinating, but to discuss them in details would merit long articles in their own rights.

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Between the great things we cannot do and the small things we will not do, the danger is that we shall do nothing. -Adolph Monod

Speaking to a friend a few days ago, I lamented how weak my resolves of late have been, of things I’ve started but now reluctantly giving up or putting on hold, of feeling overwhelmed by all that I should do and the panic that ensued when I felt I’ve failed to push myself to get them right. Methinks the greedy philosophy is backfiring…

If I am to go slow, then I need to (re)start small. Baby steps. I cannot keep looking back at those which have gone wrong. Do-over moments are life fallacies. There are, however, don’t-repeat-bad-choices moments to live by. Afterall, life is the sum of all that we’ve been through, regardless of time, place or the people we were with. We are who we are.

But now, time to look forward. Set new (little) goals.

1. Set aside 15 minutes each night to reflect on the day, focus on the positive, and mentally prioritise tasks for the following day.

2. Learn a word a day. English, French, Arabic – who cares which language it is in?

3. Go away a weekend each month. See and experience something new. It doesn’t have to be far. Even a village nearby would do.

4. Cook and eat seasonal. (Note to self: prepare a list of what’s in season when)

5. De-clutter. Nothing good comes from hogging anything, not even love. You know as well as I do that obsessive love is unhealthy. In any case, love is not a collectible item. Just be grateful with all that you receive.

6. Be more a saver, less a spender. (Perhaps a tad contradictory to No 3 above, but hey, trips don’t have to be on the pricey end either. Got to balance things up but it can be done.)

7. Stop worrying about what others may or may not think of my weight. If someone tells me that I need to lose some, I’d thank him/her for the advice and move along.

8. Healthy body, healthy mind – time to get back into my jogging routine!

9. Stop procrastination. ‘Nuff said.

10. Free hugs, virtual or in real life. *Hugs*

11. Project Life. (I’m just throwing this in for now. It’s something I’m interested in but just an inkling. On principle, it’s a pretty good idea.)

12. Smile. Every day. Even when it’s tough to. :D

And no, these are not New Year’s Resolutions. These are life resolutions. And thank you for listening reading my sudden revelations on improving my personal life. I’ll be back tomorrow with more thoughts on my roadtrip in Sri Lanka. See, part of the “stop procrastination” effort. ;)

Supermarket shelf too high? The guy sitting in front blocking the view? Can’t reach that little corner for cleaning? Need about 3-4 inches of heels for a wee boost in height? These are the downsides of being me. Of being a mere couple of inches taller than five feet. But when it comes to travel, being petite has many advantages too. (Scroll over images for captions)

Plenty of leg space
Frequent travellers know that leg space is on the premium while on the move, be it on the plane, car, bus, or even train. Luckily for me, there’s normally a reasonable gap between my knees and the back of the seat in front of me. Stretching out, pas de problème!

Just get comfortable
If I don’t feel like stretching out, tucking my legs under me to settle in comfortably is relatively easy too. There’s nothing beat curling up in one’s seat to read while listening to music, if the scenery proved to be too familiar, repetitive and/or unattractive.

Evoke protectiveness
It is hard for me to appear threatening to anyone. With a little smile, it goes a long way into enlisting help from others. Putting my bag into overhead locker, fishing that one last bottle of ice tea from the top shelf, asking for direction… I just need to be careful that the friendliness is not perceived as an expression of interest for “something special”.

Make the luggage shrinks
The running joke is I could shop in the kids’ section to avoid paying too much value added tax. I bet my five blouses could fold more compactly and weigh less than, say, an adult man’s pair of jeans. Even my shoes are nearly comically tiny. Translate that in terms of volume, it means I can bring less and travel lighter.

Walk right through
Low ceiling, low door threshold, low cupboard shelf, etc – nary to worry. I would have to try to jump up so I can bump my head to the corners. So I’d just happily walk under them, and come away on the other side unscathed. Pretty handy for visiting Lilliput!

Cheap(er) to feed
Well… this is not exactly true. I’m not a fussy eater and I’m almost always game for something local and novel to me. Give me a decent plate of food and I’ll be quite full but, reality is, I could eat large-ish portion when I put my mind to it. Not only that, I’m not aversed to eating at expensive places either. One really should not assume that it’ll be cheap to feed me… ;)