« Rishika, passe-moi le beurre. »
« Rishika, qu’est-ce que tu as fait aujourd’hui ? »
Over the past two weeks, I have had a French dinner every night. It’s French food, French table manners, French cheese, and French conversations. And it has not been easy. My brain still has to translate the French sentences, word-for-word, into English before I can respond. My hands still refuse to put the bread next to my plate, instead of on my plate. My taste buds still don’t know the difference between sheep and cow cheese (honestly, sometimes I crave Kraft’s Mac n’ Cheese’s cheese). I still carry my American tendencies.
At first, I would get upset every time I noticed that I did things differently. I would think “oh-my-god, stop being an obnoxious American.” At the heart of it, I didn’t want to draw attention to myself or my gestures. My mouth was shut during conversations because I knew I pronounced French words with an American accent. I would get super self-conscious about how everyone seemed to enjoy cheese and I just sat there struggling to use the cheese cutter (« couper et piquer! » as my host-mom likes to say). I felt like a burden to the French culture.
But after days of frustration, I realized that I am being unfair to myself. It’s not my fault that I am American and I will always carry American culture with me. If tables were turned, and I was hosting French students at my American home, I would not view their culture and their tendencies as “a burden.” Actually, I come across so many different cultural practices at Northwestern, and I have never ever considered them annoying or burdensome.
So yes, I did say “Je suis plein” (I am pregnant) instead of “I am full” at the dining table. But I am trying, and that’s the best anyone can ever really do.