As this is the last column of mine that will appear this year, it seems appropriate to address the subject of leaving what has been my home for nine months. Better yet, the topic that worries me most is re-entering the United States, for many reasons. And, the most evident of these is the issue of language. My first reaction when approaching a sales counter, or the post office, is to speak in French, and I wonder when I go home if this habitude is going to wash off easily or if it will take some time. Imagine the puzzled look on some poor white haired woman's face when I ask for "timbres" (stamps) at my local three employee rural New Hampshire post office. Although, given the relative density of the Ex-Quebecois in the northeast, at least I have a better chance than if I were returning to say, Ames, Iowa. The worst problem, however, will be ridding myself of my own personalized, and therefore useless, brand of "Franglais" or "Fringlish," depending on what side you are speaking to. What this means is that instead of becoming bilingual or even strong in one language and natively speaking another, I have taken the elements that I like from each and mixed them. The problem that causes this occurance is that words exist in one language that don't have a direct translation in the other, or worse, no place at all in the other language because of the cultural "dclage," or differences. The effect is inexplicably bewildering.

Now, instead of being alienated from one group or another, I find myself lost in my own world filled with mixed words and phrases. For example the word I just cited, dclage, is hard to define; they refer to dclage as jet lag, but also any other gap or separation, whether in compatibility of two people or the difference in height of adjoining tables that requires the use of the card table you keep in the closet. The phrase "en plus" means "what's more," but personally I find the French version rolls off the tongue better. There is also the phrase meaning "in the middle of (doing something)" which is "en train de" and is so much simpler. Worse is when, in an honest effort to speak only English, these phrases become "in plus" or "in the train of." Just from these two examples it is apparent what a "nul" I have become - the wonderful French invention that means useless and can be used both as an adjective and a noun; the popular "For Dummies" series here is translated as "Pour les nuls."

The word "canard" has completely replaced its English counterpart "duck" and can be especially problematic when translating menus for Anglophone friends and family who come to visit. In fact, most food related words are in French now. I can't remember the last time I said the word "eggplant" or "arugula."
On the other hand, due to the relative proximity in value, I can't for the life of me get accustomed to saying "euros." To me, it is either dollars or francs, even if I mean euros. Then there are all the words that are very close, or the same in French and English, and therefore I will pronounce them in the wrong language. The color blue is "bleu" but sounds like "bleuh." Potential conversation: Q: "Nicole, what is your favorite color?" A: "Bleuh." Instead of sounding like an appropriate response, this sounds like I am discontent with the question, and I risk causing an unnecessary misunderstanding.

In any case, the final result of this Twilight Zone of languages is that speaking in general is difficult, in both languages. I am not a shy person, and I am not accustomed to "me taire" or "keeping myself quiet." So now, instead of being somewhat clear in my explanations, I have a strange inconsistent speed, a lot of "ums" and lots of more or less nonsensical, invented words. So, if you see a girl on campus next semester making noises you don't understand but who is obviously American, it will be me, in the train of making up for the dclage entre myself and the natives. And, if I seem a bit bleuh just have the gentilesse to reassure me that I am not completely nul. Ciao!

- Nicole Bouchard '03 submits a column to the Justice