Od-ločitve

"Vsaka od-ločitev je ločitev. Boli." Takole nekako pravi Boris A. Novak. Boli...ali pa tudi ne. Zdaj vem, da sem se prav odločila. To vem, ker me je danes v službi ustavil starejši gospod, Američan, ki je pokončno korakal za našim big bossom in mi navdušeno segel v roko:" Oh, poznam vas! Vi ste tolmačka s konference o Palestini! Res me veseli!" Ja, tolmačka sem.

Pot do učenosti (in popolnosti?) bo še dolga in strma, ampak vem, da sem se prav odločila. Na kratki, srednji in dolgi rok. Dovolj mi je popravljanja  pregledovanja besedil (ja, tako se temu reče po novem: "Samo na hitro preglej, če najdeš kako grobo napako..." My ass!), ko nihče tega ne ceni. Dovolj imam utemeljevanja svojih popravkov ("A se res ne more reči: Customers need more stimulation?" Ne, dragi moji, razen če ne govorimo o porno filmih!). Da ne govorimo o vseh drugih jokerskih opravilih.

Tako, tudi obdobja brezplačnih zalog kave bo kmalu konec. Čaka me novo, bolj mirno in sproščeno pa tudi zadoščenj polno obdobje. Dana the interpreter is back.

On thermos flasks, notepads and goals

I've had a terrible cold since last weekend (yes, I've missed the big sailing competition I meant to go to. Gutted!). Last week was also a terribly stressful week, a week when I just could take it anymore.

And then came the weekend. I woke up on the Saturday with a terrible headache, a runny nose and a sore throat (nothing unusual these days), but knowing I had to do my job. Knowing I'd be awesome (thanks J. for teaching us to talk ourselves up before interpreting. It is probably the most useful and efficient piece of advice I have ever been given!).

I started interpreting at 11am and finished at 7pm. I interpreted in front of journalists, MPs, senators (ok, only a few of them). For the first time ever, I felt no fear (if we exclude the fear of a snot dropping on my notepad in the middle of a sentence). Everything was just so...natural. I knew I hadn't prepared enough, and yet I was where I was supposed to be, doing what I wanted to be doing. Using my voice and knowledge for a good cause.

Yes, I made mistakes and yes, I was corrected in public. Yes, I sometimes hesitated and almost broke into tears once (but managed to hold them back eventually. Describing torture techniques is not an easy thing, I'm sure you all agree). Yes, I could have chosen better words and yes, I could have taken fewer notes. But all this doesn't matter, not now at least. What matters now is that after all the doubts I had in the past and after all the times I felt bad at work because I wasn't feeling useful or competent enough for the work I was doing, I finally understood. I now know what I am good at and what I truly enjoy doing.

Now, while sipping the Italian equivalent of Lemsip from my forever faithful thermos flask which got me through so many sleepless nights, I know I still have about 30 pages to translate for tomorrow and another week in the office ahead of me, but all I can think of is yesterday's speaker, an Irish guy who married a Palestinian girl and lives in Palestine. At the end of the conference he hugged me and said: "Thank you, I think we made a good team!"

I think we have.

On growing up and testing people (part 2)

"You have to grow up" I was told the other day.

It hurts. Why?

- because I find it hard to take criticism
- because it is probably true
- because I really value and admire the person who said it to me
- because it means I'll have to give up some of my naughtiness
- because it is such a broad reproach that I can hardly understand what I should do to improve things
- because I thought I was mature enough already


On the other hand, I have friends who, when asked if they think I am childish and foolish, just said: "You are just...yourself...and I know you too well to get annoyed."

I have friends who helped me make a yummy chocolate cake (3 hours of work) without ever getting to taste it. Thank you, M&M.

By the way, isn't that a nice way to test your friends? Wait, this is me being silly again. Let's be serious...

Talking about a revolution?

It's autumn. It's raining. And it's cold. I am tired knackered. And grumpy. And on the verge of tears. It's been like that for a while now. You always tell yourself that things will get better with time. And maybe things really aren't as bad as they seem. If you look at things from the outside, all your problems are nothing. Not only if compared to famine in Africa, wars and the like, but also compared to your whole life.

And yet, when you are there and then, things look grim. You are as stresses out as you can be. You don't see a way out.

The question is: how much time do you give yourself until things get better? And you start wondering: is it me or is it the job? Would it be like that if I changed job?

One thing is certain. Two things, actually:

a) I am disorganised and messy
b) I cannot stand people telling what to do if I don't see a good enough reason for them to do so

= problems.

It's either time to react (and by that I don't mean whacking people on their heads) or to move on. I wish I were a computer so that the right answer would come to me automatically.

Enough now. Back to my book.

Escapism is the key (for the time being)