Dead Poets Society

Still about the last entry… I mean, still about the interview with the CEO.

From the outset he vowed not to ask competency-based questions, yet he couldn’t resist. You know, my CV lying on the desk, in front of him, with qualifications and skills which could be seen as sheer pretence – or perhaps not, but when one is a foreigner, sometimes scepticism plays loosely.

Competency-based questions were asked, one to be sure. “You wrote here that you have strong copywriting skills. I’ve read your blog using Google translator. Undoubtedly you are eloquent in your mother tong. Besides, whoever speaks two, three idioms like you, has my deepest respect. I can, with great effort, construct a few statements in French, and my Italian is appalling. However, the position you’ve applied for is in English. I can attest that you speak English fluently; in fact you speak very well. On the other hand, to write in English is a complete different matter. Therefore, how can I be certain that I can use your copywriting skills with us?”

That was unexpected. How would I prove that I could write in English? Above all, how would I prove that I could write competently and convincingly? I had nothing in hands to back my words. I was only able to provide a post-interview proof. “You can see as per CV that I’m doing a diploma in marketing. On this course I have to write one assignment with three thousand words and two with one thousand and five hundred words each for each module. I can send you one assignment for your checking.” The deal was gladly accepted.

At home, not satisfied in delivering a ready-made piece of writing which, who knows, could still sound dubious, and having an on-line platform myself, namely my blog, I decided to write an entry in English with fresh and interview-related content so that, hopefully, I could once and for all rest my case. I sent him my assignment and mentioned about the new entry, and after went to bed in peace.

All this story remounts me to when I was learning English and the book Dead Poets Society.

I arrived in London speaking no English whatsoever. Whenever someone spoke to me, it sounded like a compact uttering of unintelligible words. That was over six years past. After about eight months, I decided to get down to some reading. I had already acquired some books, due to my passion for reading and writing, but the only audacity I would afford was to affectionately worship them with the tip of my fingers. Then a friend of mine suggested Dead Poets Society: “I have it and can lend it to you. It’s easy to read. The books you have are very difficult for beginners. If I were you I would stick to what is easy at this stage. Afterwards, slowly you venture into your books.” So I did.

With the book in hands and two dictionaries attached – one English-English and one English-Portuguese / Portuguese-English – I started the painful craft. The most vivid recollection I have from those days is me in the solitude of my large single room, sitting on a comfortable armchair, wrapped up to protect from the cold winter, with the book in hands and the dictionaries on my lap. I used to spend, literally, an hour on each page. Not because I had to, but I couldn’t admit jumping to the next page by following the easy path of ignoring some words for the sake of a speedy completion. It was an exercise of patience to the core. Resilience and stubbornness were at stake. The herculean effort proved fundamental for the learning process thereupon. And the book, well, I shamefully didn’t hand it back but kept it dearly with me as a deserved trophy.

From reading to writing was a matter of time and practice. For both, there is still a long way ahead, to learn and to prove. But at least I have something to show.