It’s been a week since I moved to
this new country. I have never suspected myself of being prone to that
migrator’s syndrome: when you are having a tough time adjusting to a new place.
I’ve got no problems with language here, although sometimes I am scared of
talking in front of the locals. Because what if I pronounce some words wrong or
use some expressions inappropriately? Or maybe I will talk too slow for them? People talk so fast here that sometimes I mistake them for walking machine guns
spewing out bullets instead of words. And machine guns can kill, as we all
know. So, every time I start talking I feel as if I am standing in front of a
firing squad, my life hanging on every word I say.