Lost in Translation

The reader who knows me personally will know that Sweden was not my first choice in terms of country to live in. Instead it was chosen for me by some sort of twisted sense of humor, a joke probably only understandable to Danes (who always make fun of Sweden, the Swedish language and all things prohibited, like everything in Sweden). I have embraced the situation with my head held high and have gone through many tutoring hours (and a lot of money) to learn to speak Swedish. Yet being new at a language again is something I am not used to and find rather difficult. Like when at the playgroup yesterday where a woman I attempted to compliment for her shirt looked at me wide eyed, repeating her "what?" because I had clearly not pronounced 'shirt' correctly. I tried with a "not your dress but that one", pointing at her chest but that didn't go down well either. She snickered and I considered my friendship bid a failure. Luckily I later managed to strike up a conversation with an Irish dad feeding his 14 month old a jar of vegetable puree, still in Swedish, about sleep patterns and daycare. It turned out to be a match in heaven, he spoke slowly enough for me and was patient enough to wait for my corrections when I accidentally used a Danish or English word. The irony here of course being that the conversation would have been manyfold smoother if we had just switched to English. But we were both engaged foreigners in Sweden, doing what we can to fit in, even if that is speaking Swedish, just for the practice of it.

Mark tried to comfort me at home telling me that in 6 months I would be completely fluent and not worry about it anymore but I am not so sure. Right now I am in that frustrating state of wanting to make jokes, talk insiderish and just feeling that I belong, but not having the words for it. I find myself saying "jag är dansk", I am Danish, before people even say hello because I know that my accent is implacable, and I want them to understand the context. I want them to know that I am almost one of them, I just can't speak like them. And yet I know that I am not. My claim to be Danish is only a small part of me and it simply explains why I talk the way I do using odd old-fashioned words to a Swede, yet being fairly fluent in the Stockholm dialect. But I am a foreigner here, wondering why people don't hold the door, why they don't say hi when you enter a shop and why people drink so much coffee. They certainly wouldn't behave like that in my home country of America where I wonder why everyone pretend to be so happy and why the waitresses suck up to their guests in ways that seem almost inappropriate. Not like in Britain where their subdued friendliness has an edge of sarcasm to it, making servant/guest interactions   more sleek. Then I remember that I am not American, neither British but Scandinavian by birth and upbringing. But these days I am a foreigner everywhere I go.