Lost in Translation

Growing up I always thought I had the gift to gab. I could walk into a room full of strangers and feel no pain. Interviews came easy to me. I was convinced I knew what employers wanted me to say, so I said it. Don’t get me wrong, my personal conversations were, and still are, sincere, but around some, faking it was something I could always do. As the old saying goes, “Fake it until you make it!” Even at the age of 41, my Mom still teases me about me using ‘Travel Councilor’ voice. Who would’ve thought my summers of working for Ontario Travel would’ve had such a lasting affect! Sadly, when it comes to anything Ukrainian, let’s just say, faking it isn’t possible and I’m lost in translation!

Clive’s heritage is British and mine seems to be a hodgepodge (little of this, little of that), so Ukrainian words like Hopak, Veseli, Zabava and Razom, are often followed by a head tilt as I have no idea what they mean. Should I smile? Frown? Nod?

Rewind 18 months to when Cara decided to ‘try’ Ukrainian dancing. She had tried hip hop and breakdancing but didn’t consider spinning on your butt, or twisting on the floor dance, a type of dance. With Ukrainian dancing, she thought the music sounded peppy, and the dresses were pretty. I was excited, thinking maybe she’s found her thing, little did I know how out of sorts and ‘lost’ it would make me.

Fast forward to now and I’m still confused about many things, but one thing I know for sure is that Cara is having fun, making new friends and loves her flared skirt, embroidered shirt and colorful headdress!

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