Lost in Translation (and Privilege)

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about English being my mother tongue.

I work in a team where most people speak multiple languages, and I’ve always been a bit envious of that ability. I really battle to learn languages — gosh, most days even English fails me.

It’s been a big year of travel, and none of the countries I’ve visited are English-speaking. A quick recap of the amazing places I’ve been this year:

• The Philippines in February
• The Netherlands in April and September
• Czech Republic in May
• Portugal in November

And yet, the word that keeps coming to mind is yuk.

That’s the feeling I get when I walk into a local café, bar, or shop and start speaking in English. Why should locals have to praat die taal when I’m in their space? As the year has gone on, this feeling has only deepened. It feels like entitlement, privilege — like forcing others to adapt to my way. All the things I can’t stand in other people, and all the things I consciously try to move away from.

I don’t have a neat conclusion to this — just an acknowledgment of the discomfort.

I’ve got a 780-day streak on Duolingo for Spanish, and honestly, it means nothing if I don’t use it.

So I’m setting myself one goal: I’ll likely be in Mexico in March. By then, I want to walk into a café and at least start the conversation in Spanish. To respect the language, and let them choose to switch to English — not the other way around.