Foreigners

Dinnertime can be a tricky occasion sometimes. One table full of people who have difficulties understanding each other. Everybody tries to speak English to the best of their ability and I sometimes have to bite my tongue as to not finish someone’s sentence for them. I have to remind myself that if I were to try to speak French for instance, I would struggle even more and I would hate it if people did that to me.

I had a moment when I thought it can be hard to talk to foreigners all day, only to remember afterwards that I am one myself and English is not my native language. I never really think of myself as a foreigner in that way and it’s a strange realisation: I am just as much of a stranger in these lands as the French people but somehow I don’t feel like a stranger at all. It makes we wonder if people can tell I am foreign, if I have little habits that give me away. Perhaps the biggest question is: Am I seen as an intruder of some sort? Are there people in England who don’t want me – or any of us – here?

You tend to put labels on other people. They are foreign, they are something else, but you just see yourself as you. I wonder how many other labels other people may have put on me that I am not aware of.

I am not trying to make a point at all by writing this. I don’t know if I see this as a bad or a good thing, it is hardly a thing at all. but sometimes my mind wanders, and today I thought I would share it with you. That is all. To make up for my mindless mumbles, here is a picture of a shaved guinea pig, looking like a baby hippo.

– Rosalie

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