![]() =/īut whenever I go to Vietnam, I tower over everyone because nutrition in Canada is different from nutrition in Vietnam. ![]() We ate grilled chicken and I was baffled that anybody would want to eat a hunk of chicken cooked pretty much plain. The first time I distinctly remember using a fork and a knife to eat dinner on a plate was when I was visiting a friend’s house when I was maybe 8 or 9 years old. My mom made sandwiches for my lunches but I hated them. We ate rice every day from little bowls and used chopsticks. She made Vietnamese bean desserts, and jello made with agar agar (Mmm coffee, pandan, and coconut flavours!). We went to temple, and I played around the pond at the temple grounds with other Viet children. We don’t celebrate Easter, Christmas, or any other Judeo-Christian holidays. But from growing up in a Vietnamese home, I didn’t experience a lot of things that many Canadian children experience. I’m too Canadian to be Vietnamese, but I’m too Vietnamese to be Canadian. The point of that whole paragraph was to kind of announce to the blog world that I do, in fact, have identity issues. Or why are there theorists on translation? Who cares? Well, I do. You’re probably asking yourself why I’m telling you this. I was raised in a micro-Vietnamese culture in a tiny Canadian town). Even today, many translators are natural bilinguals who have either immigrated, emigrated, or been raised in a micro-culture inside a large culture (e.g. Many famous translation theorists have been displaced Jews, who were infamously displaced in the early 1900s. From just my general knowledge of certain translators, I almost have to agree. My academic work doesn’t often permeate my blog, but recently, one of my professors suggested that most people who pursue translation as a career often have identity issues. Some of you may be aware that I am currently doing a MA in Translation Studies. Mango Lassi: a milkshake drink that’s fresh and full of mango goodness. ![]()
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