ENTRY ONE
I have a guinea pig. His name is Brunno, but I call him Morča [morcha], which is short for morské prasa, which is how you would translate guinea pig here. He’s biting his plastic house in his little cage, because he wants food. I really was hoping to start writing in here today, but for some reason, the biting is the only thing I can focus on. It makes a terrible sound…
It’s Christmas tomorrow. Sorry, Christmas Day. It works a little different here. The atmosphere is missing though… Up until today, I was trying to be hopeful. Hopeful that maybe my immediate family will grow a brain and we can enjoy this gorgeous season in a slow, relaxed pace, after the past few months have been so — so odd. And that’s not to say they’re stupid, no, they’re actually very smart people. But so close minded. So caught up in their own minds and opinions they just aren’t able to see anyone else’s. I’ve learnt not to talk to them about certain topics, but frankly, it’s bittersweet. Then, every once in a while, I feel like maybe now, they’ve come to their senses and try to strike up a conversation about what bothers me in our relationship, what I’d like to work on and listen to what they have to say about my behavior. And don’t get me wrong, the conversation usually goes ok, it mostly ends with me trying to be patient and explain why I feel as though my opinion is being listened to but not heard and why I feel that I get what they’re trying to say and will try and work on it, but they aren’t willing to burst they’re bubble to try and get me.
There’s a big age difference between me and my parents and though often times that isn’t an issue, I feel like with my parents it is. The world we both have grown up in, just isn’t the same. It actually is not just one world, it’s two very very different ones. I’ll give an example. I speak my native language and I speak English and am learning French, right? I feel like that’s pretty normal. So many people nowadays speak English, because though it’s not the most used language in the world, it’s one of the most practical ones. You only really need English to talk to most people, to find friends, to travel the world, to order food, to learn how to build a tent because the manual just isn’t enough and you’ve never been camping before, so you don’t know what to do. Therefore, we learn it. Oh and let’s not forget about the American dream. Everything is so idealized and glamorized, that kids around the world just think it’s reality. I don’t wanna get into that tho, it breaks my heart in so many different ways.
What i meant to say is, I speak English, because over the past few years it has become normal. Everything around me is in English, the people I look up to speak English and many of them even are English or American. It’s just normal. Then, I speak my native tongue, because I was born and raised here and I live here. And then I’m learning French, because that’s the one extra language you have in high school. And then comes my mother, telling me I have such a talent for languages, that that is what I should pursue, that’s the direction I ought to head, because that’s what I’m “good at”. But nooo. That ain’t true woman. I might be better at it than some people, but me speaking one extra language isn’t what classifies as a “talent for languages”. I tried explaining it to her, but she doesn’t get it. I don’t know if I’m getting my point across well enough, but since this is probably only for me to read, who cares. Right?
It’s so weird though. The relationships in families. I could talk about the inability to understand eachother for hours on end and still have things I wanna say. I’m deciding right now, this is where I’m letting this topic go. The moment passed, I’m moving on, I have to feed my guinea pig. See you next time. Maybe. If I’ll be able to force myself to write it down…
Luci
