Culture Shock.

If I hadn’t moved to France I would write the year like this:

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And everyone would understand. End of story.

However I moved to France and, I’m not too sure when, at some point I started writing 1s like this:

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Instead of like this, how I always used to write them:

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So now when I write the year it looks like this:

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And if I write quickly no one can understand the difference between the 1 and the 7. So now I have to write the year (and any number with a 1 and 7 in it) like this:

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I hate those bars on sevens. I’ve always found them phenomenally ugly and swore I’d never switch over to using them like all the silly French people. Guess I’m laughing on the other side of my face now.

My phone got stolen a while back and on my new phone I never installed the English keyboard so now when I try to put apostrophes in words they get interpreted as accents and I say “wére” to people on a regular basis.

More often than not, when I write a question, I find myself going back to delete the extra space between the end of a sentence in English and a question mark instead of having to go back and add it in in French. I had to go back through this blog post and capitalise the nationalities where I forgot they were meant to have capital letters. I also had to go back and check that non of my Q’s or A’s were mixed up because I now switch between qwerty and azerty keyboards. This makes touch-typing a password, or anything at all, nigh on impossible, as anyone who borrows my computer knows.

I had to write a presentation for my English class a few weeks back and found myself searching for an English translation of my French idea and the grammar getting all mangled in the process.

When I go to London I get all the discomfort of the unfamiliar without the joy of discovery. People laugh when I call the tube the metro and I forget how early the tube shuts so I find myself walking and being really thankful for the LOOK LEFT reminders when I cross roads.

Over 90% of my interactions now happen in French and one of the biggest problems my close friends deal with is knowing whether I’m in a good enough mood for them to correct the errors that pepper each sentence. Some of them address me in English and I reply in French so no one is speaking their first language anymore. Sometimes I refuse to speak English because I’m too tired to translate but sometimes I can’t express anything I’m aiming for in French.