Oh, fuck it.
A little while ago, Guillermo, my good blog friend and fellow immigrant in Ottawa, asked me if he could interview me. “No worries!” I replied—hey, who doesn’t like being interviewed?
“The interview would be in Spanish” he quickly added. See, Guillermo and is family are from Argentina and even though I know for sure he speaks English fluently, the interview was for his Spanish blog.
“Well, sure” I replied, mentally reviewing who could edit my answers in Spanish.
“Oh, and it’s a recorded interview” he finally added.
Ah, Guillermo… I mean, I do appreciate the faith you have in my Spanish abilities but oh fuck. Well, let’s look at the bright side: at least I speak Spanish. Well, kind of. See, I’ve never learned Spanish formally, I just picked it up when traveling in Latin America. And I’m pretty out of practice. I can read Spanish just fine (it’s also very close to French) and I can write if I have a dictionary nearby. But speaking?
Ha pasado agua bajo el puente… I mean, time has passed, many things have happened and I thought Guillermo came to his senses. I mean, why would a French-Canadian woman with a Chinese name participate in a Spanish interview?
Little did I know that Argentineans show great persistence. I mean, I should have known that, considering graffiti reading “Las Malvinas son Argentinas” (“The Falkland Islands are Argentine”) can be found all across Argentina.
So, one Saturday, Guillermo called me. “Are you ready by any chance?”
I have to add that the interview took place the very same Saturday we behaved like idiot and locked ourselves out of the car and forgot the home keys were attached to the very same key ring (after busing home, obviously). Anyway, when Guillermo called me we were finally home and laughing about the whole thing but still, not our smartest day.
So the interview. Well, I really should have prepared some answers. On top of that, my immigration story is pretty complicated. Believe me, after I hang up with Guillermo, I wanted to kick myself—why didn’t I say that, that and that? Why didn’t I remember that the word for this was that?
Hell, I even dreamed in Spanish that night. Well, to be exact, in my dream I was in Latin America and everybody was laughing at my Spanish while I was saying something like “no, no, por favor!”.
Nonetheless, I encourage you to listen to the interview. And please, remember… my English and my French are better than my Spanish!
Acerca de las Islas Malvinas y el resto … Sólo estoy bromeando, Guillermo!