I’m no stranger to the art of translation. As an American attending the Lycée, I learned to translate French to English instantaneously to understand my teacher’s instructions. Today, it’s no longer the translated – but the untranslated – that puzzles me.
The untranslatable French word “dépayser” describes the bewilderment one has upon being thrust into a totally foreign environment – a feeling I know all too well. Most Lycée students come from multicultural backgrounds, while I grew up in a monocultural household. Language or culture, I tried to translate everything into its American equivalent. When faced with the untranslatable, I felt uncomfortable. Clinging to the familiar, I wanted to relate everything back to what I knew.
Sometimes, however, there is no equivalent; not everything is translatable. I can’t begin to count the times I’ve asked my Chinese teacher, “How would you translate this to English?” And she’d shrug and reply, “You can’t.” Many times, my French friends don’t understand aspects of American culture; they can’t understand our obsession with our flag, how everyone needs to be a winner and why most people love peanut butter. Conversely, I am often the only person not laughing at my French teacher’s dry joke or hesitating to kiss a total stranger on both cheeks when being introduced.
By far the hardest thing for me to translate is why I attend Lycée. I explain to American and French friends that it’s because my mother wanted me to be bilingual, but they still don’t seem to understand. It’s as if no matter how hard I try, the two parts of my life won’t merge. But I’ve come to accept the fact that some things get lost in translation. And when they do, it’s almost as if you have a unique secret that no one else understands.
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