Language frustration, RIP

Over the past few weeks, I have made my peace with Serbian…

No one—except people who are trying to flatter me—thinks that I am a native speaker, but it is rare that I can’t make myself understood or understand what others want to tell me. I have even started to be able to have interesting discussions in this language. Just this morning, I finished my first book read for pleasure in Serbian, that great masterwork of Serbian literature Are You There God, it’s Me, Margaret? (One of my favorite parts of the book was the footnotes explaining things like Thanksgiving.) So, I have a fourth grade reading level. Not too shabby, really. It’s satisfying… maybe the hours spent with flashcards are starting to pay off.

I’m still not skilled enough to do much translating from English to Serbian (Mrzim padeže.), but a new task at work has been to check other people’s English to Serbian translations. It’s satisfying to catch it when people mistranslate homonyms or don’t understand metaphors. On Monday night, I spent hours watching a documentary about war profiteering in Iraq, checking the first draft of Serbian subtitles. Lots of thick—mostly Southern—accents. It took me a few tries to decipher them; the translator stood no chance.

As part of that project, I explained the non-sexual meaning of ‘incestuous,’ as in “Washington is a very incestuous town.” Always good to discuss sleeping with relatives in the office.

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And now that language has ceased to be a fount of frustration and anxiety, I am finding all sorts of other things to be nervous and worried about arising to take its place (post-November plans being number one on the list). Not too satisfying…