Lost in Translation

The words swam across the screen, an alphabet soup without the comforting flavor of my mother tongue. My stomach tightened – another slide deck full of industry terms and unfamiliar turns of phrase. I was good at my job– the numbers, the analysis, and the core strategy flowed smoothly from my mind. But trying to translate those ideas into this sharp, clipped version of human language felt like building a sandcastle in a hurricane.

They meant well, my colleagues. "Your English is coming along," they'd say with encouraging smiles. Yet, their smiles couldn't hide those tiny frowns after presentations, the way their eyes would dart away during meetings when I tried to find the right words. It was subtle, but I saw it. It was not the blatant dismissal of my childhood, where accented English was cause for laughter. This was different, a barrier of nuance and unspoken expectations I could barely grasp.

I thought back to the conferences I dreaded. The small talk with strangers, my heart racing as I searched for something clever to say. Clever failed me more often than not. Each awkward silence chipped away at my confidence, making the conference floor feel as vast and desolate as a desert.

Nights were the worst. I'd lie awake, wincing at my fumbled phrases from the day, replaying them obsessively. Did I make a fool of myself again? Was I the outsider they tolerated, not respected? This was no way to advance a career.

Then came Sarah. A new manager, young but with the kind of quiet confidence I could only aspire to. During a project update, I stumbled over words, my face burning. She waited patiently, tilting her head slightly as I struggled. No pity, just focus.

When I finally sputtered to a stop, she didn't rush to fill the silence. "Victor," she said softly, "You have brilliant insights. But sometimes, the brilliance gets lost in translation."

Relief washed over me. It wasn't the ideas; it was the delivery.

"Let me help," she offered.

My lessons with Sarah weren't about grammar; they were about impact. Yes, there were idioms and business jargon, but also the power of pauses and emphasis. It was like painting with a whole new palette of verbal colors. Meetings became less terrifying, and my opinions carried weight, not just through my accent but because of the sharpness of my words.

The invitations followed industry talks and networking events. I still sweat sometimes, catching glints of surprise in people's eyes when I speak. Surprise that's fading, replaced slowly but surely with respect.

The road isn't easy. Some days, the struggle feels too much. But then, I remember my younger self, watching American movies, dreaming of a place beyond the borders of my vocabulary. That boy would be so proud of how far I've come. And so am I.