Sharifa McLeod

French. The language of romance. Well, this so-called language of romance showed no love to me this past year. Only things it showed were disappointing grades, late nights and tears.

Random accents, fancy Es or should I say fancé, 5s under the Cs. This class was not what I expected it to be.

French: that class/language/course/whatever you call it made possibly my biggest fear come true. My fear of failure. It caused tears. French was a nightmare. It was inescapable. It was a nightmare that occurred whilst I was awake, an expected one, and one that occurred every weekday except Monday. Even though, I didn't have class on Monday, left over homework or some random French assignment, potential quiz would lurk in my mind. It was "inévitable”

My path to securing a one in this class or even passing was so narrow. The road looked like one of those with a cliff at the end, but like the majority of roads where I live, it was punctuated and accentuated with potholes. Potholes in the form of accents, grammaire, formes verbales, verb conjugation, passé compose and liaisons. The list goes on and on.

Eventually though, I must admit, I started getting very used to do and very accepting of the fact that I would fail which is also failure. French was that one class, no matter how fantastique I thought my work was,

What was the worst part of all of this was that I was trying my hardest and I was still failing. What was the most annoying part is that my teachers still thought I had the potential to earn a distinction, it was as if I was alone in my thoughts, no one saw what I seeing, and the battlefield was only present in my field of vision. Yet, they still saw something. I didn’t know what it was.

I remember this one listening exercise in particular, I heard nothing at all. No recognizable words, while everyone was writing their answers, I heard nothing. That’s when I felt even more alone.

But then things started to change. I became my positive and I said that there was no darn way I was failing. I spent way too time and energy on this. So whether, Mr CXC likes it or not, I’m going to pass and I’m going to get a distinction. My attitude changed and so did my grades and then I realised that the only way that I would do well is if I knew was going to do well. I still wasn’t getting great grades but something about the language and the class felt easier. French felt like my friend not my foe. French was just playing hard to get and the moment I realised that that’s when it all changed. A great man once said “The secret to life is hidden behind the word clichés and that is so true. Our mind is a very powerful place, it’s our true determinant. “Cliché is a French word” So that simply means the secret to my success in life was hidden in my French class. It was hidden in the skills and patience and endurance that French taught me.

And today, I’m proud to say that I have newfound love and respect for this language, this same language that tried and tested me. This eight month class taught me so much more than French and I conquered it. I eventually conquered it even though I am positive that it

had conquered and brutalised me many times before. It’s Sharifa - 1, French – 0, because in the end I won. I got a distinction.