PERSONAL REFLECTION ON THE TEXT BY DAVID GRABOLD (2006)

Although the figures that the autor shows us in the text, about the increase of the middle class in China and India. And how in today’s post-recession, cost-competitve environment, Asian countries like India and China have positionated themselves as the natural heirs to U.S. economic domiance. However, as Americans and Europeans look east, fretting aboout China’s economic outlook amidst rising debt, stagnating wages, and excess suply with weakened demand, changes are happening in South and Central America that could potentially have a game-changing impact on the economic landscape of the twenty-first century.

Economic indicators are often viwed short-term, and to see why South America is unequily positioned to assume a leading role in the economics of the twenty-first century, it’s important to look a longer term indicators that are slighty, but which a great punch over the long run.

While the economic paths chosen by countries must be sustainable in order to achieve any lasting econmic power, development in Asia has largely placed such concerns in a subordinate position to rapid economic growth. Indian coal-fired rapid growth has resulted in pollution so pervasive that the average Indian’s lung capacity is about 30% than that of average Europeans. China, as well, has calculated that economic advancement is worth plundering its own resources and fouling its own water and air. Though China has recently passed a number of product safety laws, including a stingent food safety law in June of 2015, it is unproven yet.

Another measure of long-term economic health is the ability of a nation to feed its people, and still be left with enough produts for exports. A great advantage that South America has over Asia is that there are more South American countries with a biocapacity surplus that is, they have more productive land and water than is needed by their population. The world is suffering economically right now, and South America, naturally, has its share of woes and worries, and an extra serving of growing pains. But the region is rich in natural resources, and is emerging cautiosly onti the economic stage. The road will be long and winding, but as other countries find themselves pressed for resources, this is the region that will be in a position to provide them.

In another hand, fo no one is a secret that economy, power and language are linked by hand. Actually Mandarin should be by now the world’s most important language, it has the most speakers, its position is boosted by an upcoming economic superpower at the cost of plundering its own resources, but Mandarin at the same time is still a less commontly taught language. Faar more people learn Spanish, French or even Russian and Japanise than Mandarin.

It looks like, Mandarin is difficult to learn and the time investment it requires to learn Mandarin at business fluency level is a way more than you need to get to the same level than in Spanish, the difficulty learning a language also plays an important role in the business world, where everything moves very fast, and we have to be realistic, the business worls is interested in what is faster affordable and where less time and money can be spent to train satff. If Chinese hasn’t been able to gain much traction, it looks like it won’t make it in the near future either.

Chinese speaker are concentrated in 2 or 3 countries, Sapnish is the official language of more than 20 countries. Moreover, the fertility rate of Chins is low, lower than that of most countries in South America. China is below the replacement level 1.2 children/mother.

Which means that the number of Spanish Speakers in the future is on the rise, while the number of Chinese speakers is going to decrease or at best stabilize. Also we have to take into account that these people have emigrated to different parts of the world searching a better future, which they did not find in their countries of origin (China or India) and how they struggle to stay in develeped countries and never return to their countries of origin. Currently the migration of the population of South America is towards the same continent, and few people are moving to Europe or Notth America, it means that living conditions in South America have improved drastically, proof of this is that we see more and more Europeans living in South America, while the majority of migrants in the world still remain Asian population.

Spanish is the most important language of the U.S.A after English, which is the most powerful country in the world and has a lot of cultural influence across the globe. An like a natrual process is not hard to think that English and Spanish will merge into a new fused language in the future, thanks to angloamerican-southamerican migration. To the average oserver, it may seem as if the Spanish language is secure in the U.S. After all, there are now even more Spanish speakers in the states than in Spain.

In conclusion sheer numbers do not necessarily tell the true story about anything, there are probably more who speak Mandarin, but in terms of geogra´hy and business purpouses, English is more widely spoken, also we have to take into account the changes that has has English overtime, has been adapting, which I have not seen with the Mandarin. But you can see changes in the Spanish with th new foreign words that have been adapted. The Spanish has adapted to changes as well, if a language does not conform to the changes is doomed to dissapear.

 

The way of a freelance translator

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Soy estudiante de Lenguas Modernas, en la Universidad ECCI, en Bogotá, actualmente me encuentro cursando 4° semestre, he aprendido inglés de una forma autónoma, estudié francés en la Universidad de Caen, en Francia; soy hablante nativa del idioma español.

I’m a student of Modern Languages at the University ECCI in Bogota, I am currently pursuing four semester, I learned English in an autonomous way, I studied French at the University of Caen in France; I am a native Spanish Speaker.

Je suis étudiante de langues modernes à l’Université ECCI à Bogota, je suis un cours du quatrième trimestre actuellement à l’université ECCI en Colombie, j’appris l’anglais de manière autonome, je étudié le français à l’Université de Caen en France; ma langue maternelle c’est l’espagnol.

Si alguien necesita mis servicios como traductora freelance, puede contactarse conmigo en el siguiente enlace: https://www.facebook.com/SeleneRuiztraducciones o a mi correo personal: karen.s.ruiz.v@gmail.com.

If someone needs my services as a freelance translator, you can contact me on the following link: https://www.facebook.com/SeleneRuiztraducciones or my personal email: karen.s.ruiz.v@gmail.com.

Si quelqu’un a besoin de mes services comme traductrice freelance,  vous pouvez me contacter sur le lien suivant: https://www.facebook.com/SeleneRuiztraducciones ou à mon e-mail personnel: karen.s.ruiz.v@gmail.com.

Los precios, yo prefiero discutirlos con el cliente.

The prices, I prefer to discuss with the client.

Les prix, je préfère discuter avec le client.

Yo soy muy diligente, cumplida y me gusta entregar trabajos de calidad a mis clientes.

I am very diligent, I’m a fulfill person and I like to deliver a quality work to my clients.

Je suis très diligent, Je fais mon devoir Et voilà qu’il me plaît de livrer un travail de qualité.

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Article about the person I admire

One of the person I admire from the past is Zumbi dos Palmares. I consider him as the bravest and most valuable slave man in Brazilian history, he fought in Quilombo place, into Recife, Brazil.
Zumbi who fled from the white man was somebody very worry about release the bondsmen. He never put his own needs first. He was very courageous and never thought about the risks he was taking when he led his people to rows against the colonizers and showing humble to his peers, he changed his catholic name ‘Francisco’ by ‘Zumbi’ honoring his African roots.

After he replaced his Christian name, he became the leader of the rebels. In time for war in the land of the sun, they were thirty thousand folks fighting the right to be free, raping the city of the masters of greed, following the warrior Zumbi they blew them away. But unfortunately he was betrayed for his friend Antonio Soares.

I admire Zumbi not only because he was a real knight fancying the end of the slavery, but also his dead inspired the creation of Capoeira Academy Angola. And if you will travel in Brazil, you might go to  visit Brasilia owing that the city has a bust in his memory with the epitaph that says: ‘the black leader of all races’ and the community there celebrate on November 20th, the Day of Black Consciousness, commemorating his lifeless.

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Foam and nothing else

Here is a very awsome story by Hernando Tellez, written in 1908.

Translated by me.

He said nothing when he entered. I was passing the best of my razors back and forth on a strop. When I recognized him I started to tremble. But he didn’t notice. Hoping to conceal my emotion, I continued sharpening the razor. I tested it on the meat of my thumb, and then held it up to the light. At that moment be took off the bullet-studded belt that his gun holster dangled from. He hung it up on a wall hook and placed his military cap over it. Then be turned to me, loosening the knot of his tie, and said, “It’s hot as hell. Give me a shave.” He sat in the chair.
I estimated be bad a four-day beard. The four days taken up by the latest expedition in search of our troops. His face seemed reddened, burned by the sun. Carefully, I began to prepare the soap. I cut off a few slices, dropped them into the cup, mixed in a bit of warm water, and began to stir with the brush. Immediately the foam began to rise. “The other boys in the group should have this much beard, too.” I continued stirring the lather.

“But we did all right, you know. We got the main ones. We brought back some dead, and we’ve got some others still alive. But pretty soon they’ll all be dead.”

“How many did you catch?” I asked.

“Fourteen. We had to go pretty deep into the woods to find them. But we’ll get even. Not one of them comes out of this alive, not one.”

He leaned back on the chair when he saw me with the lather-covered brush in my hand. I still had to put the sheet on him. No doubt about it, I was upset. I took a sheet out of a drawer and knotted it around my customer’s neck. He wouldn’t stop talking. He probably thought I was in sympathy with his party.

“The town must have learned a lesson from what we did the other day,” he said.

“Yes,” I replied, securing the knot at the base of his dark, sweaty neck.

“That was a fine show, eh?”

“Very good,” I answered, turning back for the brush. The man closed his eyes with a gesture of fatigue and sat waiting for the cool caress of the soap. I had never had him so close to me. The day he ordered the whole town to file into the patio of the school to see the four rebels hanging there, I came face to face with him for an instant. But the sight of the mutilated bodies kept me from noticing the face of the man who had directed it all, the face I was now about to take into my hands. It was not an unpleasant face, certainly. And the beard, which made him seem a bit older than he was, didn’t suit him badly at all. His name was Torres. Captain Torres. A man of imagination, because who else would have thought of hanging the naked rebels and then holding target practice on certain parts of their bodies? I began to apply the first layer of soap. With his eyes closed, be continued. “Without any effort I could go straight to sleep,” he said, “but there’s plenty to do this afternoon.” I stopped the lathering and asked with a feigned lack of interest: “A firing squad?” “Something like that, but a little slower.” I got on with the job of lathering his beard. My bands started trembling again. The man could not possibly realize it, and this was in my favor. But I would have preferred that he hadn’t come. It was likely that many of our faction had seen him enter. And an enemy under one’s roof imposes certain conditions. I would be obliged to shave that beard like any other one, carefully, gently, like that of any customer, taking pains to see that no single pore emitted a drop of blood. Being careful to see that the little tufts of hair did not lead the blade astray. Seeing that his skin ended up clean, soft, and healthy, so that passing the back of my hand over it I couldn’t feel a hair. Yes, I was secretly a rebel, but I was also a conscientious barber, and proud of the preciseness of my profession. And this four-days’ growth of beard was a fitting challenge.

I took the razor, opened up the two protective arms, exposed the blade and began the job, from one of the sideburns downward. The razor responded beautifully. His beard was inflexible and hard, not too long, but thick. Bit by bit the skin emerged. The razor rasped along, making its customary sound as fluffs of lather mixed with bits of hair gathered along the blade. I paused a moment to clean it, then took up the strop again to sharpen the razor, because I’m a barber who does things properly. The man, who had kept his eyes closed, opened them now, removed one of his hands from under the sheet, felt the spot on his face where the soap had been cleared off, and said, “Come to the school today at six o’clock.” “The same thing as the other day?” I asked horrified. “It could be better,” he replied. “What do you plan to do?” “I don’t know yet. But we’ll amuse ourselves.” Once more he leaned back and closed his eyes. I approached him with the razor poised. “Do you plan to punish them all?” I ventured timidly. “All.” The soap was drying on his face. I had to hurry. In the mirror I looked toward the street. It was the same as ever: the grocery store with two or three customers in it. Then I glanced at the clock: two-twenty in the afternoon. The razor continued on its downward stroke. Now from the other sideburn down. A thick, blue beard. He should have let it grow like some poets or priests do. It would suit him well. A lot of people wouldn’t recognize him. Much to his benefit, I thought, as I attempted to cover the neck area smoothly. There, for sure, the razor had to be handled masterfully, since the hair, although softer, grew into little swirls. A curly beard. One of the tiny pores could be opened up and issue forth its pearl of blood. A good barber such as I prides himself on never allowing this to happen to a client. And this was a first-class client. How many of us had he ordered shot? How many of us had he ordered mutilated? It was better not to think about it. Torres did not know that I was his enemy. He did not know it nor did the rest. It was a secret shared by very few, precisely so that I could inform the revolutionaries of what Torres was doing in the town and of what he was planning each time he undertook a rebel-hunting excursion. So it was going to be very difficult to explain that I had him right in my hands and let him go peacefully -alive and shaved.

The beard was now almost completely gone. He seemed younger, less burdened by years than when he had arrived. I suppose this always happens with men who visit barber shops. Under the stroke of my razor Torres was being rejuvenated-rejuvenated because I am a good barber, the best in the town, if I may say so. A little more lather here, under his chin, on his Adam’s apple, on this big vein. How hot it is getting! Torres must be sweating as much as I. But he is not afraid. He is a calm man, who is not even thinking about what he is going to do with the prisoners this afternoon. On the other hand I, with this razor in my hands, stroking and re-stroking this skin, trying to keep blood from oozing from these pores, can’t even think clearly. Damn him for coming, because I’m a revolutionary and not a murderer. And how easy it would be to kill him. And he deserves it. Does be? No! What the devil! No one deserves to have someone else make the sacrifice of becoming a murderer. What do you gain by it? Nothing. Others come along and still others, and the first ones kill the second ones and they the next ones and it goes on like this until everything is a sea of blood. I could cut this throat just so, zip! zip! I wouldn’t give him time to complain and since he has his eyes closed he wouldn’t see the glistening knife blade or my glistening eyes. But I’m trembling like a real murderer. Out of his neck a gush of blood would spout onto the sheet, on the chair, on my hands, on the floor. I would have to close the door. And the blood would keep inching along the floor, warm, ineradicable, uncontainable, until it reached the street, like a little scarlet stream. I’m sure that one solid stroke, one deep incision, would prevent any pain. He wouldn’t suffer. But what would I do with the body? Where would I hide it? I would have to flee, leaving all I have behind, and take refuge far away, far, far away. But they would follow until they found me. “Captain Torres’ murderer. He slit his throat while he was shaving him a coward.” And then on the other side. “The avenger of us all. A name to remember. (And here they would mention my name.) He was the town barber. No one knew he was defending our cause.”

And what of all this? Murderer or hero? My destiny depends on the edge of this blade. I can turn my hand a bit more, press a little harder on the razor, and sink it in. The skin would give way like silk, like rubber, like the strop. There is nothing more tender than human skin and the blood is always there, ready to pour forth. A blade like this doesn’t fail. It is my best. But I don’t want to be a murderer, no sir. You came to me for a shave. And I perform my work honorably. . . . I don’t want blood on my hands. Just lather, that’s all. You are an executioner and I am only a barber. Each person has his own place in the scheme of things. That’s right. His own place.

Now his chin bad been stroked clean and smooth. The man sat up and looked into the mirror. He rubbed his hands over his skin and felt it fresh, like new.

“Thanks,” he said. He went to the hanger for his belt, pistol and cap. I must have been very pale; my shirt felt soaked. Torres finished adjusting the buckle, straightened his pistol in the holster and after automatically smoothing down his hair, he put on the cap. From his pants pocket be took out several coins to pay me for my services. And he began to bead toward the door. In the doorway he paused for a moment, and turning to me he said:

“They told me that you’d kill me. I came to find out. But killing isn’t easy. You can take my word for it.” And he headed on down the street.

Name Tale: Espuma y nada más (Foam and nothing else)

Author: Hernando Tellez

Country: Colombia.

Original Language: Spanish.

Translate by me.

Making public opinion

April 2

In 1917, The President Woodrow Wilson announced that the United States would enter in the First World War.

Four and a half months before, Wilson had been reelected as the peace nominee.

The public opinion received his pacifist speeches and his declaration of war with the same enthusiasm.

Edward Bernays was the principal author of this miracle.

When the war ended, Bernays publicly acknowledged that they had been invented photos and anecdotes which ignited the war spirit of the masses.

This advertising success opened a brilliant career.

Bernays became the advisor to several presidents and the most powerful businessmen in the world.

Reality is not what is, if not what I say it is: he developed better than anyone modern collective manipulation techniques that push people to buy soap or war.

Excerpt taken from: Eduardo Galeano para los pobres.

Translated by me.

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Unconditional love.

Many time ago, I read a story that leads to reflection, I’ll write it here, because to me it’s important helping to reflection with a good story.

Example:

collected on the Internet, 1998.

A story is told about a soldier who was finally coming home after having fought in Vietnam. He called his parents from San Francisco. “Mom, and Dad, I’m coming home, but I’ve a favor to ask. I have a friend I’d like to bring home with me”.

“Sure,” they replied, “we’d love to meet him”.

“There’s something you should know” the son continued, “he was hurt pretty badly in the fighting. He stepped on a land mine and lost an arm and a leg. He has nowhere else to go, and I want him to come live with us.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, son. Maybe we can help him find somewhere to live.”

“No, Mom and Dad, I want him to live with us.”

“Son,” said the father, “you don’t know what you’re asking. Someone with such a handicap would be a terrible burden on us. We have our own lives to live, and we can’t let something like this interfere with our lives. I think you should just come home and forget about this guy. He’ll find a way to live on his own.”

At that point, the son hung up the phone. The parents heard nothing more from him. A few days later, however, they received a call from the San Francisco police. Their son had died after falling from a building, they were told. The police believed it was suicide.

The grief-stricken parents flew to San Francisco and were taken to the city morgue to identify the body of their son. They recognized him, but to their horror they also discovered something they didn’t know, their son had only one arm and one leg.

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Adoption of gay couples

I was born heterosexual and I had to settle living like that, to my parents was a blessing my sexual condition and they still grateful with life for it. They’re fairly traditional and still thinking it’s a sin to be born gay.

At the beginning I thought the same; I thought that many people claiming to be gay to get attention, but one day my thinking changed when my best friend told me: “I’m gay”. After this confession I started to reconsider the fact that you can born gay.

When I realized that with the help of a friend, she and her girlfriend could to adopt a beautiful boy, I had to keep the secret or the government could to take the kid in an orphanage; keeping the secret in silence I always had curiosity to know if it was true that children could build them a trauma by having a family with same-sex parents. I had to wait patiently in silence for 10 years to satisfy my curiosity.

In a picnic I had the opportunity to ask to the titan, small in age, but big on thinking about his life with his 2 moms. He told me: “I like women, I respect the sexual condition of my moms, I know they adopted me, and I don’t care what people think, because I was rejected by a heterosexual couple and a gay couple is giving me a second chance to enjoy a wonderful family”.

After hearing an honest opinion from someone who has never been manipulated to give me a very revealing answer. I can say that the idea about trauma is bullshit, that for long time the duo man and woman have left many orphans, my friends shown me that gays are excellent parents and they have every right to give a second chance to all those children rejected by heterosexual parents.

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