My bilingual mess journey
Okay let’s be real – ever since I got dumped into this English-speaking job last year, every single day felt like climbing a mountain in flip-flops. Meetings? I’d zone out after three sentences. Coffee breaks? Smiling like an idiot while secretly panicking about the small talk tsunami coming my way. Went home every night with my brain completely fried.
That moment things got embarrassing? Last team lunch when Sarah asked about my weekend and I blurted out “I cooked…uh…water.” Meant to say soup. Whole table went silent for three seconds before bursting out laughing. Almost melted into the floor right there.
How I tried fighting back
Started simple:
- Grabbed blue painter’s tape and plastered English labels on EVERYTHING in my apartment – microwave, toothbrush, windows – looked like a kindergarten art project gone wild
- Switched my phone language overnight – spent 20 minutes just trying to text “OK” back to my mom
- Started talking to my rubber plant during breakfast about traffic (“Many cars today huh Phil?” Felt stupid but hey)
- Picked one English-only podcast episode daily – literally the garbage truck schedule episode saved my sanity
- Made awkward small talk with baristas till Steve at Starbucks started calling me “Weather Man” cause my opener was always about clouds
Did it feel ridiculous? Absolutely. But two months later? Slowly noticed meeting notes made more sense. Caught myself thinking in English when hunting for keys. Phil the plant got upgraded to full rants about my boss.
Where I’m at now
Still mix up “soup” and “water” sometimes? Sure. But yesterday I cracked a joke about Steve’s terrible coffee and the whole line laughed. Felt like winning the damn lottery. Moral? Start embarrassingly small. Your brain needs training wheels before the Tour de France.
