Méli-Mélo-Mélanie

I'm told that a guy I knew as a kid once told his mother that it must have been really cool to grow up in my family, because I grew up knowing not one, but two languages.

And every once in a while, I'm reminded of how cool that was. And how ...surreal it all kind of seems.  

Take for example Christmas in my mother's hometown, a barely-visible dot on any map.  One of the (many) uncles would sneak away and dress up as Santa to give out presents to the kiddies.  And oftentimes the kids would have to do something to get their gift.

Without fail, for my siblings and I, it meant saying - or singing - something in English.  And we'd usually oblige.

 

And on the flip side of things, one time when I was in university doing a group project with an Anglo and a Franco, where the former would speak in English, the latter in French, and I would respond in whatever language was thrown my way, without really having to think too much.

I think I'd have a bit more trouble with it now, which is unfortunate.

About 6 summers ago, I went on what I dubbed my "Roots Tour" and spent a summer traveling around "La Belle Province" ("the beautiful province", a monicker given to Quebec).  I wanted to discover a bit more about where my family was from. I wanted to explore something outside of the small towns I'd visited and spend some time getting to know the culture.

It was an amazing trip. Quebec is such a diverse, beautiful and intriguing province.  And I could spend hours typing up stories about the things I saw, the people I encountered and the things I did.  But I'll only tell you one of them.

The story centres around a conversation I had with a woman on the Magdalene Islands, in the St. Lawrence Gulf (probably one of the most beautiful places I have ever been to).  Upon hearing me speak, she had trouble placing my accent. I don't blame her too much; my parents taught me to speak like a Quebecker, but I studied and worked with French people from literally all corners of the globe, which influenced my way of speaking.  Still, I thought her reaction to my telling her I was born and raised in Toronto was very interesting: "Toronto?!" she said, "Do they all speak French as well as you there?"  Well ... no. Not exactly.  I'm kinda unique.

I'm one person. I speak two languages. I have keys, if you will, that open up doors to two cultures. But I'm still one person.  And the interesting thing is that the only real clue anyone has of my "ethnic" identity is if they know my name, which clearly is French.

Here's the thing, though: that name only tells a part of my story. Or anyone's story, for that matter. There are plenty of people with French names who don't speak a lick of French.  And plenty of people with English names who do.

To look at me, to hear me talk in either language, most people would probably think that I fit the culture. I'm like a chameleon that way. And I can choose to hide my "other" side whenever I want. And sometimes I do, for a number of different reasons.

But if you look long and hard enough, you'll notice a few anomalies. You'll see that I can't perfectly change my "appearance". I've still spent more time in the English culture, so I'm missing a lot of cultural references. English, though technically my not my mother tongue, is still my stronger language, the one I default to when reading the bilingual cereal boxes. And the more you talk to me in French, the more you'll notice when I'm searching for words. You'll also see my attempts to do direct English to French translations.  And for those of you who speak more than one language, you know how horrible that can be sometimes.  I may have the keys to the Franco culture, but I fumble a bit when trying to enter into it.

Believe it or not, I once had a person in the service industry (restaurant or tourism, maybe?) ask me if I'd be more comfortable speaking in French.  That was kind of frustrating.

Then there was the time I was in Paris. When I spoke French there, one of three things happened:

1)  I was told they couldn't understand me.

2) I was patronized: "The Canadian accent is so cute!" *insert eye-roll here*

3) I was hit on. *insert eye roll and massive yawn here*

And yet ... there's this draw, this pull towards the French-speaking world. I get all excited whenever I hear people speak in French here, and all I want to do is jump in and scream, "Hey!  I speak French, too! Be my friend, please?" (I usually don't ...). It's a part of who I am.

And I miss it.

And while I know that this is where I need to be right now, there is a part of me that's saddened by the fact that I can't use my French much while I'm here, and I'm scared of losing it.  French has been very much an avenue, a way to a goal, rather than the goal itself. And I would love it if, at some point in my life, I could just live in French.  Somewhere.