Wednesday was the Virgin Mother Mary’s name day which is a big deal here in Greece. Half the country celebrated their name day and the other half celebrated their loved ones’ name day. I had my fair share of celebratees (about 15 friends, 2 aunties and an uncle from what I can remember).
Although I was born in Greece, I’ve always considered myself English as I lived in London since I was 3. Living in Greece the past few years however has really brought out an exacerbated version of the Greek person that was hiding in me. Name-days are celebrated as if it has always been a thing, watermelon is eaten with feta cheese (obviously) and sentences always consist of both English and Greek words and sometimes words which are a combination of the two (Gringlish).
Being an avid Gringlish speaker (I pride myself in having invented words which have even caught on in my clique) comes in fantastically handy when I’m speaking to my family, my fellow ex-pats (Greeks from UK, USA, South Africa, New Zealand, Australia, etc.) or Greeks who just watch a lot of English/American TV.
It does not however come in handy when I’m trying to write a book and the only words I can think of to best describe a certain situation are Gringlish. Partly because Gringlish is not (yet) a recognised language and partly because I’m not too sure that any agent will entertain it even for a moment.
There are two ways to view this. 1. I’m so clever, I can think and speak in more than one language at a time or, 2. I’m so thick I can’t even think or speak in one language at a time. It’s at times one or the other, always dependent on the colour of my mood ring.
Yet another writing demon I face. That and the fact that instead of writing, I’ve been spending most of my time on the beach…