Very few people know about translation and interpretation, and even fewer understand the distinction between the two.  Even at our graduate school, which only has around 700 students, those of us in the "T&I" department are very misunderstood.  Many people think that what we do is easy, and does not require two years of training: a common misconception is that anyone bilingual can translate or interpret.  The other stereotype that pervades at the Monterey Institute is that translation and interpretation students never do anything but work.

Last year at a party, I met a student from our school's policy studies department who told me, "I always see you at the library."  I found this somewhat deflating, standing there as I was in heels and mascara, and hoping for more promising of a conversation.  I've always fantasized about being someone people would remember in exciting places (I don't know – like swinging on jungle vines or languishing in a smoky, ill-lit room somewhere), rather than planted with my nose in a book in a place with fluourescent lighting and photocopiers that don't work.  Perhaps it was this lust for adventure that led me to study interpretation, filling my head with visions of distant cities and stately conference rooms. 

By the time I arrived in Monterey and came head-to-head with professors compelled to destroy any misconceptions students might still be harboring about the utter lack of romance in red-eye economy flights and entire days crammed into a booth with colleagues who do not believe in deodorant, it was already too late to turn back – my student loans had already kicked in and I'd abandoned my "other lives" in Paris and New York.

It is true that the library soon became a second home for me and many of my classmates that first semester, and we'd spend hours there poring over page after page to find the French translation of an obscure skin disease or financial terminology.  I soon found myself strangely content, however, surrounded by kindred spirits who became just as excited as I about finding a good Spanish dictionary or online thesaurus.  And despite my preliminary disdain at the provinciality of Monterey, I soon encountered things here I'd never before experienced, even in the big megalopoli I'd held so dear. 

First year I was always running from place to place, rushing to get everything done: presentations to prepare, tapes of speeches to practice interpreting.  By last February, I'd even begun to practice on my way to the grocery store, with French streaming in from my Walkman headphones, while I simultaneously spewed out an English version of Jacques Chirac jabbing at U.S. foreign policy, all while strolling down Alvarado Street as though talking to myself were normalþ

Given my penchant for theatrics, and despite my love for writing, I knew very early on that I preferred interpretation to translation (contrary to another common misconception, although both are language-based, they require different skill sets and it is rare to find star interpreters who are also amazing translators, and vice-versa).  I declared interpretation as my specialization, and this year, the simultaneous booths have replaced the library as my second home.  I haven't needed the library nearly as much, since my roommate and I ordered high-speed internet and I have been thrilled to discover live television news feeds on-line from all over the world.

I haven't yet run into that IPS student from last year, the one who always felt obliged to remind me of my omnipresence in the library; though I have to admit that I'd secretly like to bump into him so I could point out how much less often I'm wedged into a carrel than last fall.  "Look for the first-year students," I'd probably gloat, "You won't find me there."  And despite the rap our program gets, the truth is we like to go out just as much as everyone else.  Unfortunately, our school is also known for the incredible imbalance in its male-female ratio, so we generally go out in groups rather than pairing off into couples.  Still, we retain the hope that we might meet someone interesting one of these days.  Whenever that happens, I just hope he doesn't say he's sure we've already met, or ask me, "Haven't I seen you in the library before?"

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