Lost in translation...

A veces no valoramos ciertas cosas hasta que somos adultos. Mis papás me pusieron en, me atrevo a decir, una de las mejores escuelas en Puerto Rico, Cupeyville School. Cupeyville está basado en el sistema escolar americano, por ende la mayoría de las clases son en inglés. Es muy competitiva a nivel académico, pero lo más que puedo apreciar es el hecho de que reconocen que el éxito de los estudiantes yace en una educación equilibrada. Inculcan el arte, la música, los deportes y actividades que desarrollan liderazgo para que los estudiantes sean individuos completos.

Gracias a Cupeyville tengo una buena base del inglés. Pero, no es lo mismo saber expresarte bien en inglés a tener que hablarlo las 24 horas del día. Ahora deseo haberle hecho caso a Mrs. Montilla en mi clase de 9no grado cuando nos exigía hablar inglés en su clase todo el tiempo.

Antes de mudarme a California decidí hacer un “cross country road trip” con mi novio Carlos desde Nueva York hasta Los Ángeles. En este “road trip” aprovechamos para visitar varias amistades y familiares. Paramos en Virginia, Mississippi, Texas, New Mexico, hasta llegar finalmente a California. Lo interesante de este viaje no fue ver las distintas ciudades, fue presenciar lo difícil que se me hizo traducir mis pensamientos del español al inglés.

De Virginia a Mississippi: 6am

Paramos en una gasolinera antes de comenzar nuestro recorrido de 17 horas hacia Mississippi. La temperatura estaba en aproximadamente 20 grados Fahrenheit. Carlos se baja a echar gasolina cuando de repente, “¡Plopppp!” un ruido me impresiona. ¡Estaba cayendo granizo! Me sentí como “Chicken Little” creyendo que se caía el cielo. Carlos termina de echar gasolina y en seguida se monta en la guagua. Le digo, “¡Viste! Está cayendo granizo.” Y él me responde, “¿Granizo? ¡Eso es nieve!” Por un momento contemplamos la nieve pesada y voluminosa que en menos de 5 segundos abrigo el suelo con su colchón blanco. Luego seguimos nuestro camino batallando el espesar de la nieve en nuestro parabrisas.

Varias horas después paramos en otro puesto de gasolina ya que el tanque estaba casi vacío. Carlos se baja nuevamente pero esta ves regresa a donde mi con una sonrisa sarcástica. Me dice: “Emmm, quizás existe la posibilidad… de que quizás deje la tapa de la gasolina en la gasolinera de Virginia.” Yo respondo: “¿Qué? ¿Llevamos todo este tiempo guiando con eso abierto? ¿No se congela la gasolina?” Carlos me niega con la cabeza. Sigo, “Bueno, esto debe de pasar todo el tiempo. Déjame entrar a la tiendita y preguntar a ver si venden de esas tapas.”

Entro y en la caja registradora me recibe un personaje curioso. Un hombre alto, grueso de pelo largo dorado con vestimenta sureña que me hacia sentir como si en cualquier momento alguien sacaría un banjo para tocar música “country”. Me mira de abajo hacia arriba y dice con su acento tosco y ordinario mientras masca un chicle (espero que fuera un chicle): “Can I help you?” Y yo le contesto un poco intimidada “Yes, Sir. Do you by a chance have, or sell any…any…” ¿Tapa de gasolina? ¡¿Como se dice eso en inglés?! “Um, you know…the thingy for the gas…” le digo mientras hago un gesto de torcer con mis manos. “What I mean is…you know, the gas ‘tap’?” “No, I’m sorry ma’am.” Me responde. “Ok, thank you.” Digo y salgo cabizbaja a donde Carlos. “No, no tienen.” Carlos me pregunta: “Pero, ¿qué tu le dijiste?” “Pues, ¿que si tienen gas ‘tap’?” respondo. “¿Gas tap? ¿O quisiste decir gas cap? No te preocupes, yo voy a tratar.” Ni 5 minutos después sale Carlos con una tapa de gasolina en la mano como un campeón agarrando orgullosamente su medalla. “Tap. Tapa. Gracias a Dios que no dije: Tapation.” Terminé burlándome de mi propio anglicismo.

De Texas a New Mexico: 4pm

Uno de mis pasatiempos favoritos es la fotografía. No hace mucho atrás me compre una camarita, la misma con la que documenté nuestro “road trip”. El camino de Texas a New Mexico es bastante aburrido en su mayor parte. No fue hasta que cruzamos los pequeños poblados que me emocioné y comencé a tomar imágenes de carros oxidados y letreros pintorescos. Entre ellos, había un letrero que captó mi atención. Decía: “HAY” For Sale. Que chévere, un letrero “spanglish” pensé. Hay “for sale” pero, ¿que hay? ¿Que es lo que venden? No dije nada en el momento, pues no quería perder la oportunidad de fotografiar otros panoramas. Hasta que mas adelante observo otro letrero que dice lo mismo: “HAY” For Sale. En ese momento no pude retener mi confusión y grito, “¿Que es lo que hay for sale?”. Carlos me contesta, “¿En serio? HAY. La palabra en ingles para heno…paja. Grama seca. Como la que la venden para los granjeros. Osea que hay HAY for sale.” Y después de un silencio bochornoso, le sonreí, le di un beso y cambie el tema.

To be continued…

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sometimes we don’t value certain things until after we grow up. My parents enrolled me in; dare I say, one of the best schools in Puerto Rico, Cupeyville School. It’s based on the American scholastic system; therefore, most classes are in English. It is very competitive at an academic level, but what I appreciated the most is that they recognized that a student’s success depended on a balanced education. They instilled art, music, sports and leadership skills into their students so that they could become well-rounded individuals.

Thanks to Cupeyville I had a great foundation in the English language. But of course, it’s not the same to speak the language than to actually function within that language 24/7. Now I kind of wish I’d listened to my 9^th grade teacher Mrs. Montilla when she demanded we speak only English in her class.

So before I moved to California I decided to do a cross-country road trip with my boyfriend Carlos, all the way from New York to Los Angeles.  We made the most of this road trip by visiting friends and family. We stopped at Virginia, Mississippi, Texas, and New Mexico until we finally made it to California. Ironically, the most interesting thing about this trip did not involve sightseeing. It was witnessing how difficult it was for me to translate my thoughts from Spanish to English.

From Virginia to Mississippi: 6am

We stopped at a gas station before heading on our 17-hour drive to Mississippi. The temperature was approximately 20°F. Carlos got out to fill up the gas tank when all of a sudden; a huge “thump” startled me. Hail was falling hard all around us. For a second there I felt like Chicken Little. Carlos immediately jumped back inside the truck as I said, “Look! It’s hailing!” and he responded, “Hail? That’s just really heavy snow!” And for a moment we contemplated the snow and how it covered the ground in a matter of seconds. After the initial shock, we headed on our way.

Several hours later we stopped at another gas station. Carlos once again got out to fill up the gas tank but before he could put any money in the machine, he came back with a sarcastic smile on his face. He said: “Um, maybe, just maybe…there’s a possibility I might have left the gas cap in Virginia.” To which I replied” “What? Does this mean we’ve been driving with that thing open? Doesn’t that freeze the gas?” Carlos silently shook his head no. I reassured him “Well, I’m pretty sure this happens all the time. I’ll go in the store and see if I can find a spare one.” I went in and instead found a curious character waiting for me at the cash register: A tall, thick man with long golden hair. His southern attire made me feel like at any moment someone was going to pop out of the beef jerky section with a banjo and start playing country music. He stared at me and said, “Can I help you?” with his rough, southern accent while he chewed on what I wanted to believe was gum. “Yes, Sir. Do you by a chance have, or sell any…any…” And then it hit me. I had no idea what to call the thing that you screw on the other thing that keeps the gas from leaking out in English. “Um, you know…the thingy for the gas…” I said while doing a twisting movement with my hand. “What I mean is…you know, the gas… ‘tap’?” “No, I’m sorry ma’am.” He responded. “Ok. Thank you.” I said walking back to the truck, crestfallen. I said to Carlos, “No. They don’t have any.” But just to be sure he asked me: “What exactly did you ask for?” “Well, I asked if they had gas ‘taps’.” “Gas taps? Don’t you mean gas caps? Hold on.” He walked toward the store and 30 seconds later; he came back with a gas cap in his hand. So I basically called it “tap” because in Spanish we say “tapa”. Awesome.

From Texas to New Mexico: 4pm

One of my favorite hobbies is photography. Not so long ago I bought myself a professional camera, which I had been using to document the road trip. The road from Texas to New Mexico was pretty boring and it wasn’t until we started going through small towns that I got excited about taking pictures of rusty cars and bizarre signs. One particular sign caught my attention. It said: “HAY” For sale. (Now, you have to understand that the word “HAY” in Spanish means: “To have” or “There is”.) So it wasn’t completely out of place for me to think that this was a Spanglish sign. Which my brain interpreted as: “There’s for sale”. So, naturally I wanted to know “What” was on sale. I didn’t say anything at the time because I was too caught up in taking pictures. Until, I saw the sign again. This time I was a little more vocal about it. I said to Carlos, “What is it that they are selling over there? It’s driving me nuts!” Carlos looked over and said, “Seriously? They’re selling hay, as in straw… You know… dried up grass? As in what people with farms usually buy”… So After a moment of awkward silence, I smiled, gave him a kiss and completely changed the subject.

To be continued…