I write in English because I can.
It reminds me of who I’ve been till now. It helps me to feel outside this country, a Homo Sapiens Globalus. Well, I don’t have the Oxford English of a young baron, full of dignity. Although I communicate pretty well with people from everywhere who happen to know English. Some English. Bad English. Also English of body language, strange gestures and a lot of “aaa” sounds, nothing to do with TOEFL. May be the two years in Jersey help. May be.
Speaking in English changes me a little. First I feel a person with a goal. I see lines between all that happened. It structures my life and point of view. If I am to explain anything in English, most probably I know this for sure, I know every detail and I can introduce it even to a six year old child.
Second, if I speak English I feel a travel person. A nomad. Somebody who is a part of a bigger, global community. One that can take his hat, move ahead and feel home in any part of the world.
So people, don’t be dumb, go and study English.
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