That time I knocked over a Vietnam Vet

Grampa was a rolling stone!

upper middle-aged black man with a hat smiles in laughter
Duncan Sanchez

Some days they’d make fun of funny-looking people, some days they’d laugh at each other.

There was this one time when Neboh’s grandpa came to visit him for a while. Unexpectedly in the process, Neboh ended up knocking down his poor Grampa, as he was called, out onto the hard sidewalk! Let’s take it back. So Grampa had recently found out he had a serious disease, a rare kind of Parkinson’s that was offset from his days fighting in Vietnam. Blame the agent orange. Anywho, the effects were starting to manifest in what would be a long journey against his illness. But … Grampa had another journey in mind.

Neboh and he had talked several times about going to Brazil, hitting the beaches, maybe catching a look at some sexy ladies. Well, Grampa’s balance wasn’t working too well, he had to use a walker at this point. Instead of Brazil then, one day he told Neboh;

“Hey, Neboh! Feel like walking with me up to the store?”

So, there they went. A teenage boy and his 60-something grandpa walking steadily (slowly) on a walker. If there’s one thing teenage boys hate, it’s doing things slowly. Besides it being hot as Southern California in the summertime — because it was Southern California in the summertime — and the grocery store being about a mile away up a steady incline, Neboh couldn’t figure out why Grampa wanted to walk all that way just to get a simple bite to eat. It might’ve just been a soda or something, Neboh can’t even remember. Well, off to the races they waddled.

Okay, they got their soda or whatever it was. Now comes the tricky part of going back downhill. At the time, Grampa was no small man, I mean, he had some size on him still. All that helping him up the inclination had made Neboh pretty worn out. Since the way back was mostly downward, he figured;

I practically pushed him up the whole hill. I think I deserve a little break.

On Grampa’s walker was a little flap seat and a handlebar. Neboh had the bright idea to sit on the bar while Grampa sat on the seat, and he would let the walker roll itself down the hill. Simple as that, right? Yeah. That went wrong real quick. They hadn’t rolled three seconds when Grampa started yelling:

“What are you doing?! Woah, woah, woaaaaa …” CRSSH!

It wasn’t quite like a car crash, but pretty close. The two had landed right in front of some random person’s driveway down onto the concrete. Grampa was rolling this way and Neboh rolled the other, both with their elbows scraped up. As his body rotated over the hard ground, Grampa began to wonder how safe of hands he was in after all, earnestly questioning his grandson’s dumb choices. And it just so happened that a truck was passing by at that very moment. The driver immediately stopped her car (like skrrt) and hopped out of the driver’s seat.

“What are you doing to him? Oh my God!”

The lady was freaked out, to say the least. All she saw was a man, apparently hard of walking, wrestling with a teenager on the floor. She wouldn’t be out of line to assume that Neboh was trying to assault his own grandpa. Despite this, she did help Grampa up and asked if he needed a ride or something nice, completely ignoring Neboh. He said he was fine, and so the lady carried on; Neboh carried off with Grampa. He learned not to ride on the handlebar of a walker ever again 😉


Context, please! So Grampa was a Vietnam vet, as you could tell. I always had great admiration for him, having grown up on the streets of ‘50s-’60s South Central L.A., fought in and survived a horrific war (against his own will), and later went on to become a successful businessman, father, and trend-setter. The man had style. Later we would go to visit him in Tampa Bay with his gorgeous lakeside house and his larger-than-life persona. The disease hit Grampa seemingly from nowhere, as life does for many of us.

The whole story above could foreshadow my and Grampa’s relationship later on. It forced him to move to Los Angeles, which made us a lot closer than we would have been had he stayed in Florida forever. And one man made our time together totally outrageous, Grampa’s caretaker. We’ll call him Mr. B.

Mr. B. had zero (0%) filter and Grampa knew it. I’d go to spend time with the two of them and leave just laughing my face off. Some days they’d make fun of funny-looking people, some days they’d laugh at each other. Some days they’d laugh at the fact Grampa couldn’t swallow his food so well, which would make him cackle even harder and erupt it all out in a fit of laughter onto his clothes. Then there would be jokes about who’d clean it and going to the bathroom and, “Now you’ll have to wipe your own ass, Grampy, I ain’t your momma!” I guess the point is that we made it fun, and there was almost no feeling sorry for him or each other or anyone. That happened in movie theaters, at the beach, at the mall. And all in his wheelchair too, I mean, this man got around more than I did with a fully functioning body at the time!

I was going through deep mental challenges and isolation in those days. Going to visit Grampa was such a cool distraction from that stuff, and it let me get out of my little world. Seeing who he had been and what he had to go through now made me so much more grateful for my health and strength, grateful I grew up in a time where the draft wasn’t enforced, grateful I had someone to look up to like that. My mom was super busy during those days too, and so going to the VA hospital to visit Grampa was a great way to spend time with her and other family members.

Ultimately, no one knows for sure what can happen to us or our loved ones in the future. That’s why all we can do is live up the moments we have while we have them. Grampa’s situation was a terrible one, but we made it an inspiring one through laughter and adventure and storytelling. It was never a dull moment, I assure you of that one. Being a veteran, in general, can be tough. There are all sorts of mental challenges and physical ones, and those guys and gals have gone through more than we can probably imagine. But it helps to focus on the bright side and think of the humor in situations. Asking, What is helpful about this phase I’m in right now? How can I learn from it? It certainly was a beacon for helping me through my comparably mild challenges.

Also, don’t be afraid to make jokes and have fun! Suffering is a part of life, but we’re here to enjoy ourselves. It isn’t over till it’s over, and I’ll always carry that lesson with me. Oh, and that thing about walker handlebars. I’m glad you could come and reminisce about that time …

I. My Throat Clogging Up

Antagonists – Chapter 1 (Explicit Version)

A HAZY sun settles between two ridges splayed like camel humps. Its rays cover the arid sky in a blood-orange liquid blended then spewed out past the unknown. The horizon creates an ether smoldering in gun smoke and gassy fumes. This is the world up in arms against a young pair on the street. They walk, at the same time scared and at peace, cackling loud as possible, as is expected. They are, in a sense, possessed by the time and place they walk in. The magic of these twilight hours affects them as such:

“So, how many girls did you see kidnapped?” she says.

“Wait, wait. You act like I was the one doing the kidnapping. I didn’t have no part of that. Damn, why’s it so damn hot?”

“Maybe if you didn’t wear those turtlenecks all the time— Anyway, I just assumed ‘cuz you were with them—”

“T, let’s change the subject, all right?”

“Whatever. I bet you not gonna say it, though.”

Joe turns to his older sister with sure eyes, cigarette smoking off his ear. She is only challenging him. That’s all she ever does.

“Why you think so? I’m a killer with the ladies.”

“Two hot girls just passed us two minutes ago and you didn’t even bat a eye.” Then in Spanish, (You’re a loser with the chicks, ‘güey’). 

They stroll down La Matanza upon an opportune victim who’s bending over to fill a bucket with water. The effect is of a person gleaming with their face clear and wide at the sky — just trade a wide face for a wide rear end. Joe can’t back down this time. He tugs on his turtleneck.

“Hey, ‘mami’! That’s my favorite position right there!”

Joe calls with a whistle like he’s about to hit a home run. After grabbing his crotch in mockery, he then raises the cigarette to his mouth and nudges his sister.

(Look what passes, Teresa.)

As the woman rises and turns around, both Joe and Teresa gasp. The random behind (turned-face) is actually their well-known …

“Emily?! Is that you?”

She sees that it’s Joe and pours her bucket on the ground in excitement. Nevermind the drought, then.

“Oh, little ‘hombre ’! You want some’a this?”

“No! No, Ma’am. ‘Perdona’, Señora Emily.” Then to Teresa, “Damn, bro, why I always gotta flirt with old bitches?”

She responds, “I wonder the same thing.” Emily gives Joe a wink, and he nearly vomits.

“Haha! If you want it, ‘papacito’, I can do this position all-day-long!”

She licks her lips. Joe starts running.

“Why are you — ?”

“Come on, ‘conmigo’ … Hurry!”

They both run away as Teresa stomps, balling in laughter.

“I was gonna be sick, yo.”

“That’s your own damn fault, Joe,” she says as they decelerate upon a bridge. Catching their breath, the siblings lean over on its barrier. They rest above what should be a canal, now dry but of what looks like a few sorry streams of urine.

Joe points his finger in her face.

You the one who dared me! Look, I need to get buzzed with Remy tonight. This is too much.”

Oy, Mamá’s not going to like this.”

“That’s why you don’t tell Mamá, all right?” says Joe. They hear a dull moan resounding in the area … somewhere.

“If you’re going to get drunk, I’m getting drunk too.”

“Nah, you don’t wanna do that. Don’t you have to work at the hospital tonight?”

“Ahh, I always work, though. I wanna have some fun. And why should I? They pay me scraps for what I was making up in Cali. I don’t know why the hell we moved to this dump,” says Teresa to her brother.

“Well, you don’t wanna hang with Remy. Number one, guy is bad news. He eats this mixture of ‘cucarachas’ and ‘chicharrones’ every morning with sour milk. His breath stays kicking.”

“I don’t give a fuck about what he eats! It’s not like I’m gonna kiss that foo’.”

“Now I can imagine you kissing him. Yuck! … With both of y’all’s bad breaths. I’m gonna be sick again.”

She gasps for effect. “You forget that I can’t stand Remy, after what he did to me? He deserves to get his little ‘pitito’ cut into pieces and fed to the coyotes. Jerk.”

“Damn, now you sound like the thugs I was working for.”

“That’s not true,” she replies, socking him on the deltoid. “I still can’t believe you just walked out on the fricking cartel. Like, that could be a issue, right? Don’t you put me and Mamá through enough hard times?”

“Put you through? What about me, Teresa? I’m the one that’s gotta sleep at night, then wake my ass up to look for work. ‘¿Sabes qué?’ I’m not even scared of those creeps. I’m more terrified of the chance of having a stinky ‘cucaracha’-muncher in my life. I mean, if you marry that guy, I gotta smell his breath every single day. That’s the worst punishment in hell right there.”

Joe gets distracted.

“I told you I wasn’t going to kiss him. I’m not no ratchet.”

“Shh! Yo, you hear that?”

They stop to listen carefully.

“What the heck is that?”

They look at each other, then down into the concrete trenches.

“’Holaaaaa’,” he says, echoing into the walls of that excuse for a canal below them.

More moans.

On one side at the bottom lies a darkly dressed — raggedy dressed — man who appears to have several open wounds to the head. He also won’t stop moaning.

“Oh.” Joe looks back to Teresa. “It’s just a homeless guy.”

(Poza-a. Fear, the Poza Roja,) the man babbles, then repeats. Teresa turns to her brother, puzzled.

“Poza Roja?” she mutters. “What the hell … ? Weirdo.”

They continue walking towards the fiery horizon.

“So yeah, like I said, I ain’t afraid of no cartel.”

“Are you sure about that? ‘Cuz it looks like they just ran out of places to dump bodies. All in the canals and shit.”

“Oh, definitely not. Remy is way worse than they could ever be.”

A truck buzzes past them on the road headed to the border. Teresa catches a glint as it flashes off the metal doors … or off some other piece of metal on the inside.

. . .

Brother and sister carry on till they reach a break in the fog where the sun can really influence their skin. A few gangsters and girl traffickers walk ahead of them insipidly. Of all the commotion at the moment, Joe takes the most notice in a trail of red ants on the sidewalk. He pulls on Teresa’s hood to disallow her murdering any of them.

“What?!” she yells, heavily disturbed by the content of the tug, and, to say, its randomness. “The hell is wrong with you?”

Joe looks struck, as if her reaction was coated by some weird amphibology. She pushes him back, and he points at the ground. “Ant lives matter too.”

She looks to the concrete and finds the large ants.

“Can’t you see those?” Joe asks.

“I can’t believe I missed them.”

“I can. You’re always talking too damn much.”

“Well they’re big as a German shepherd. If I stepped on one, it might fight me for a bone.”

“They’re like little people,” Joe says heartily, stroking his sister’s hair. Teresa herself is surprisingly consensual in the matter. “Well, not that kind of little people.”

“Grab me a cudgel so I h-whoop your be-hind!”

“See? They even talk like people,” cries Joe. “It’s like they have their own weird dialect.”

“Grab me a stick, foo’!”

“I can almost hear them talking to my soul.”

“No, ‘mano’, that’s Emily again.” Joe looks up from the ants and sees Emily passing by on a shaved-ice cart.

“Oh, hey Señora Emily. Started your fifth job today, I see.”

“You the one better be looking for a job, ‘mijo’. Your Mamá and Teresita here cannot do it all, you know. And take that turtleneck off! It’s too hot, ‘por Dios’.”

“Joe knows he’s a bum, Ms. Emily.” Teresa laughs. “(And don’t worry yourself.) We weren’t fighting. Just saving some ant-people, right? All the bugs are starting to come out this time of day.”

“Well, you know they got all kind of crazy insects out here. Just like the ones those ‘Locas’ Rojas or whatever use on their neck. What’s it called? Ahh … Yellowjackets!”

. . .

I was born in a humble chamber, nothing too high-class. Even as a little larva I constantly heard my mother, Queen of queens, explain how free the world is for a yellowjacket like me. Her voraciousness pushed me to work as soon as my legs grew in. Tough times.

I never knew my father, never wanted to. Mother’s own melancholy and greed killed her, and I promised myself within those early days that I’d never end up like her; so powerful, so delusional — so vain.

Growing up was hard. I was always picked on for being slightly off-yellow while my peers were golden and pure. My black was deep, however. I was known as little Jet. I gathered myself one day, gleaming in a bright new exoskeleton, still soft upon my flesh.

I had a stinger! And wings! I was ready to fly from all my problems, to live on my own as an independent wasp. I tried to remember all the positive mother, Queen of queens, had taught me, and I vowed to go where none of my kind had ever gone before. I fled that wonderful phantasm of a world I call home, and I ventured out over many fields every day.

Some days were hard. When it poured, I made refuge in a hole in the sand. It would rain and the wind would blow, but victory was my savior. Screw their clan! I’ve got my own clique. I was determined to stay alive and to take care of my own hide.

In the throes of hunger, I found a man half dead and ate some of him. He was a goner, so I knew I could get away with it and survive. And such good feed he was! Flesh was such a marvelous surprise, an, an elixir in my mandibles! Before long, I came upon a man with a similar half-dead appearance, though his neck was guarded to the brim.

Expressing my new infatuation with digging holes and eating meat, I found a hole on him. But if he were to swat at me? Oh, I could surely sting him. Just stick “one of these” right in him. Then he’d stop. Perfect plan!

And so I closed in upon him, aiming for the hole. It would be him or me, and I bore total faith that it was going to be …

“’Puta! — madre—’

(‘Güey’, what passed?) asks Teresa as her brother swings an arm at his own ear.

“A dang bee just tried to fly in my ear. Got bug juice all in there. Damn.”

“Ho-o, really? Let me see.”

Joe shows her the bits and niblets of the insect that were spread out on his hand.

“It’s gross.”

“Yeah, that’s sick, bro. And your ear’s knotted up too. It looks like those yellowjackets Emily was talking about,” she says.

“You think it stung me? I mean, what if I’m allergic? Could I die?”

An old red Impala pulls up slowly playing Grupera followed by a honking trailer behind it.

“Ey,” a whistle, “Come on. (¡’Jale’! What are you doing, ‘huevón’?)

The guy and gal in the red car pay him no mind. More honking. Joe starts to itch his neck. Then his ear.

“Maybe I should ask somebody … you know, about this sting,” suggests Joe, nodding at the couple. Nearly getting hit by the angry trailer, he crosses the road to the cruising Impala. As he approaches, he spots the driver’s hand under the female companion’s skirt.

Joe clears his throat. “Is that safe, homes?”

“Ay, ‘carajo’—”

He quickly removes his hand from its pleasant former location and raises it high.

“Sorry, uh, officer. I wasn’t doing anything. Of course, driving.” The driver embellishes his performance with a nervous grin and a wink.

“I’m not ready!” the lady starts before breaking into tears. “I’m not ready to go to jail! Ahhh! How did they know you were rolling, Enrique?”

Shh! Hey, I didn’t tell nobody. Why you blaming me, huh?”

“Well, how else would they know, ‘chingado’? I am a good girl, never done anything to nobody. Tell him that.”

“I mean, that’s a lie. You done plenty of bad things to me,” says Enrique.

“…”

“Bitch, you almost got me killed last week in a fight over your ‘culito’.”

“No I didn’t!”

Culitoooooooooo …

“Would you let me fucking— ?”

¡Culitoooooooooo!

“Ah, shut up, you baby,” she hisses.

(You shut yourself, with your little culi— )

“Guys, look. I’m not no cop,” Joe says. He motions with his hands for them to be silent. Enrique flinches, fearing he might pull a gun.

“(Woah, like this no.) I can’t go out like this!”

“I am not no cop, dummies.”

“Thank God!” says the lady. The green in her eyes catches Joe’s in an instant. He looks down, embarrassed.

“Not a …” Enrique pulls out a rifle from the car floor.

“Homes, I should kill your ass,” he says, aiming at Joe’s head.

“Hey! Heyey, what are you doing?” Teresa yells from the sidewalk. A touch of fear shakes in her timbre.

“(Wait, sis.) Just hold up. Don’t budge.”

“But this fucker is pointing a fucking gun at you!”

“Shut up! Shut the fuck up! I know what it is.” Joe starts shaking.

“You’re crazy, man, ‘¿sabes?’ Real crazy with that chick over there calling me names,” the man in the Impala tells Joe.

“I can’t control her. You know what I mean?”

“Well, you better turn into God real fucking fast, motherfucker.”

“Just chill, (all tranquil).”

“I ain’t gonna chill, homes! I will shoot your head off right here.” A beat. (What is it with your neck, ‘cabrón’?)

“Wait, ‘vato’, wait. Lemme scratch. I got stung by a yellowjacket.”

The lady in the car leans forward to hear better.

“A yellowjacket? (Is like, ‘este’… a wasp?)”

“Yeah, you know those?”

The lady taps her driving companion and tells Joe, “You need to go to the hospital, homes. See if you are allergic. You don’t want your face to swell up or nothing.”

“Thank you! That’s literally all I came to ask,” Joe says, peeved and a bit shaken.

“Sure. I’ll see you around,” she says, waving at him as if seizing the air in her fingers, or clawing it with her excessive nails.

“Yo, V, how do you know about yellowjackets?”

Joe walks away before he can hear “V’s” answer. In a fit he yells, (Ah, but you don’t wait!) at the honking trailer. 

“You all right?” asks Teresa. “All I could hear was ‘culito’.

“They need couple’s therapy, for sure.”

“I asked, are you all right?”

They had barely escaped a close, albeit weird, encounter with a wild man and his gun. Things are quieter now. 

Every organism can feel the sun’s absence at once as it dips behind the hills. The toxic red sky turns to a venomous purple. But there was still one more danger to resolve.

“Where’s the hospital? I feel my throat clogging up.”

****

Chapter 2 coming soon

Serviços de Tradução em Português

*Hi! Read this page in English

Falando Português

274 milhões. Não, infelizmente esse não foi o valor do meu último salário! 274 milhões é o número de pessoas que falam português no mundo todo. Se você é uma delas, bem-vinda! É um idioma famoso por sua melodia, cadência musical (às vezes, sua aspereza) e suas diversas variações. Assim como o inglês, o português é uma língua mundial falada em vários continentes. Também como o inglês, as pessoas escrevem em português… e muito. Na verdade, é a sexta língua mais usada na internet.

Quem Sou Eu?

Certo, então eu sou Trystn Waller. Prazer em conhecê-los! A língua portuguesa é uma paixão minha, como tantos norte-americanos, desde que assisti Cidade de Deus. Talvez não seja a melhor apresentação, sei. Desde a adolescência até hoje (mais de uma década, admito) estudo e uso português. Por alguns desses anos mais recentes, tenho usado a língua todos os dias e vivi periodicamente no Brasil.

Tive a sorte de trabalhar em todo tipo de projetos de tradução, inclusive:

  • tradução de e-book (livro eletrônico)
  • transcrição e tradução de áudio
  • listas de palavras
  • localização
  • interpretação ao vivo por telefone
  • & treinamento e correção de IA (inteligência artificial)

Não é apenas um trabalho, mas um verdadeiro interesse que tenho em transformar palavras e ideias portuguesas em inglês. É aí que eu gostaria de te ajudar.

Suas Palavras, Traduzidas

Escrever em português já pode ser bastante difícil! Ainda assim, sei que muitas pessoas não querem apenas compartilhar suas histórias, suas ideias e suas descobertas em sua língua nativa. Embora existam muitos falantes de português, há muitos mais que falam inglês. Muitos de vocês aproveitaram esse fato e sabem que querem transformar suas palavras para o inglês. Quer ser lido não só pelo mundo português, mas por todo o mundo. Bem, pelo menos mais do mundo. Mas por onde começa essa jornada? Como você consegue ficar traduzido em inglês?

Como alguém que consome e usa o português diariamente, me sinto muito à vontade para ler e compreender ele. Os sotaques mais familiares para mim são os do Brasil, e esses são os sotaques que consigo traduzir mais confortavelmente. Embora, por escrito, também entendo as variedades europeias e africanas do português, desde que não haja muitas gírias regionais ou referências que só se apliquem a essas regiões. Mas vamos ver, né? Hoje em dia tem tantas maneiras de aprender expressões e gírias online.

Serviços

Como regra, procuro traduzir apenas do português para o inglês, porque por mais que aprenda, provavelmente nunca vou conseguir me expressar tão fluentemente quanto na minha primeira língua, o inglês. Os tipos de serviços que presto para tradução são tão diversos quanto o próprio idioma. Você tem um roteiro para um vídeo ou um manuscrito para um escrito biográfico? Que tal uma lista de palavras, um e-mail a ser enviado ou um arquivo de áudio? Pode ser que escreve artigos na internet, ou quer fazer uma carta para alguém no outro lado do mundo.

Seja o que for sua necessidade, eu adoraria ajudar. O objetivo não é apenas converter suas palavras para o inglês; é para ajudá-lo a expressar informações e ideias para um público de língua inglesa. Com experiência em edição e revisão, também posso garantir que a tradução pareça natural e correta para falantes nativos de inglês.

Como nota, não sou qualificado nem tenho suficiente conhecimento para traduções jurídicas ou médicas. Para textos especializados com muitas terminologias técnicas, sugiro procurar um tradutor especializado nas apropriadas áreas jurídicas, médicas e outras.

Saiba mais sobre meus serviços de edição aqui.

Preços

O preço das traduções depende do tipo de projeto. Normalmente para projetos mais longos, cobro por palavra. Dependendo do projeto, alguns podem ser mais adequados para um preço por-hora ou preço de projeto finalizado. Para documentos ou tarefas muito pequenos, cobro um mínimo de $ 10 (dólares americanos). Os pagamentos podem ser feitos através do PayPal, Venmo, CashApp ou Zelle. Podemos falar de opções de pagamento alternativas se não estiverem disponíveis em seu país, sem problemas 🙂

Sinta-se à vontade para entrar em contato comigo e podemos decidir se meus serviços são certos para você e suas necessidades. Vamos marcar uma chamada!

Me conta, o que você quer traduzir?

e-mail: tietewaller@gmail.com

Whatsapp: +1(310)957-7463

Confira minha página do Upwork!


Crédito de imagem: Avel Chuklanov

Portuguese Translation Services

two sets of hands over a desk with pale bluish papers between them, cups of black coffee on the side and a tablet like an ipad in the hands of one

*Oi! Leia esta página em português

Talking Portuguese

274 million. No, sadly that’s not the number on my last paycheck! 274 million is the number of people that speak Portuguese around the globe. If you’re one of them, bem-vindo! It is a language famed for its melody, musical cadence (sometimes, its harshness), and its many many variations. Like English, Portuguese is a world language spoken on several continents. Also like English, people write in Portuguese … a lot. It’s actually the sixth most-used language on the internet.

Who am I?

Right, so I am Trystn Waller. Pleased to meet you! The Portuguese language has been a passion of mine, as with so many Americans, ever since I watched City of God. Maybe not the best introduction, I know. From my teens until now (over a decade, I’ll admit) I’ve been studying and using Portuguese. For several of the most recent years, I’ve been using the language every day and have lived periodically in Brazil.

I have been lucky to work on all types of translation projects, ranging from:

  • ebook translation
  • audio transcription & translation
  • word lists
  • localization
  • live phone interpretation
  • & AI correction training

It is not only a job but a true interest I have in turning Portuguese words and ideas into English. That’s where I’d like to help you.

Your Words, Translated

Writing in Portuguese can be hard enough! Still, I know many people not only want to share their stories, their ideas, and their discoveries in their native language. Even though there are tons of Portuguese speakers, there are many more that speak English. Many of you have tapped into this fact, and you know you want to turn your words into English. You want to be read not just by the Portuguese world, but by the entire world. Well, at least more of the world. But where do you start this journey? How do you get translated into English?

As someone who consumes and uses Portuguese on a daily basis, I feel very comfortable reading and understanding it. The most familiar accents for me are from Brazil, and those are the accents I can translate most comfortably. Although, in writing, I can understand European and African varieties of Portuguese too, as long as there isn’t too much regional slang or references that only apply to that region. But, who knows? Nowadays there are so many ways to find out expressions and slang online.

Services

As a rule, I try to translate only from Portuguese into English because no matter how much I learn, I’ll probably never be able to express myself as fluently as I can in my first language, English. The types of services I provide for translation are as diverse as the language itself. Do you have a script for a video or a manuscript for a memoir? What about a list of words, an email to be sent, or an audio file? Maybe you write articles on the internet, or you want to write a card for someone on the other side of the world.

Whatever your needs, I’d love to help. The point isn’t just to convert your words into English; it is to help you express information and ideas to an English-speaking audience. With experience in editing and proofreading, I can also make sure that the translation looks natural and right for native English speakers.

As a note, I am not qualified for or very knowledgeable about legal or medical translations. For specialized texts with lots of technical terminologies, I suggest seeking a translator specialized in the appropriate legal, medical, and other fields.

Find out more about my editing services here.

Pricing

Pricing for translations depends on the type of project. Normally for longer projects, I charge per word. Depending on the project, some may be more suitable for an hourly price or finished assignment price. For very small documents or projects, I charge a minimum of $10. Payments can be done through PayPal, Venmo, CashApp, or Zelle. We can absolutely discuss alternative payment options if these are not available in your country.

Feel free to contact me and we can decide if my services are the right fit for you and your needs. Let’s set up a call!

Tell me what you want to translate

email: tietewaller@gmail.com

Whatsapp: +1(310)957-7463

Check out my Upwork page!

Image credit: Avel Chuklanov

Culture & Geography

What’s this all about, then?

Culture Surf is a corner of the internet set aside to help English learners (or anyone who’s curious) to learn more about American and Anglophone culture. We discuss song lyrics, regional slang, and a lot more. The point is to put focus on the fun side of language learning, which is the culture! Other topics like Geography and Movies are constantly being added. I’m always open to suggestions and questions to help you clear up what you want to learn. Come and discover more!

At Home you can find the latest content, as well as the page descriptions and most popular posts.

On the Give Me a Shout page, you can send me a direct message or make a comment. You can even give suggestions for content you want to see! (I also talk about my editing services there)

In the Culture section, we have short stories and audios for practicing listening and learning informal English terms through Adventures of CharlesAbout Americans talks about American society and culture. In Lyrics “Explained” you can read song lyrics, listen to music, and learn about English world culture and slang through song lyrics. At the Movies looks at English world society by analyzing movies. Language Surf allows you to listen to the sounds of the world’s languages, from the most endangered to the most spoken.

For Geography, we look at the world’s English-speaking countries, their geographies, and cultures through the Actual English World. There is also a section for looking at cool places, galleries, and profiles of the world’s regions called Earth’s Face.

Existe também uma seção chamada Em Português para quem fala e deseja ler sobre alguns tópicos do site.

Lastly, Helpful Resources is a place where I share some resources like websites and videos you can use to improve (and enjoy) your English skills.

**Even if you already speak English, you can contribute by adding your own ideas, sharing about your own accent and culture, and helping others grow. Let’s build this together!

Welcome to Culture & Geography…

🇧🇷 🇵🇹 🇦🇴 🇨🇻 🇬🇶 🇬🇼 🇲🇿 🇸🇹 🇹🇱 🇲🇴

World flag showing different countries flags, represent world languages and what languages sound like

What does Adzera sound like? | Language Surf

Adzera Atzera – Azera – Atsera – Acira an Oceanic language of Papua New Guinea, in the Austronesian family Hear More Languages Speakers ~ 30,000 Dialects of Adzera Central group Amari Ngarowapum  Yaros Guruf (Ngariawang) Tsumanggorun  *Sukurum and Sarasira may be dialects or separate languages Listen Teaching About Prayer and Faith – Adzera (jesusfilm.org) See More Do you … Continue reading

World flag showing different countries flags, represent world languages and what languages sound like

What does Adyghe sound like? | Language Surf

Adyghe West Circassian – Адыгабзэ – кӀахыбзэ – Adıgabzə – k’axıbzə a Circassian language of Russia (Caucasus region) and Turkey, in the Northwest Caucasian family Hear More Languages Speakers ~ 575,900 Black Sea Coast Dialects of Adyghe Shapsug (Шапсыгъабзэ) North Shapsugs (Great Shapsugs, Kuban Shapsugs, Шапсыгъэ шху) Kfar Kama (Кфар Камэм ишапсыгъэбзэ) Temirgoy Shapsugs (Pseuşko accent, … Continue reading

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Your Words into English – Editing Service

two people in business attire shaking hands over a desk and laptop

The Challenge of Writing

First off, I want to thank you for stopping by! Since you’re here, you might be interested in editing services (or maybe, you haven’t gotten that far yet). There are so many reasons these days to know English. You may be a teacher, an author, an attorney … maybe, you own a business. But let’s face it; it is not the easiest language out there. Sure, it’s not so hard to be understood when you speak, but writing with correct grammar in a way that sounds natural to native English speakers can be a serious challenge. I’d like to ease that challenge for you.

Who am I?

Hi, Trystn Waller here. As a speaker of English as my first language, raised in California, USA, I’ve had experience in several language fields from:

  • language tutoring
  • transcription
  • translation
  • editing
  • & proofreading.

I’ve also done proofreading for video scripts. Just for fun, I do some content writing, poetry, and fiction as well. The last several years of my professional life have been centered on language, especially how the English language is unique and fun. Although, I have realized just how difficult it can be for a second-language speaker to get right.

While working on numerous projects, I realized that my favorite ones involved assisting writers who were not born English speakers. Some of these writers could speak English well and even used it in their daily lives. Still, they wanted to make sure that their writing was grammatically correct, spelling was on point, and that the language used sounded as natural as possible. I was happy to help. Now, let’s talk about you.

Your turn

What is your story? What are you writing in English? It could be a memoir, a fictional tale, or a collection of poems. How creative of you! Maybe you write emails for work or have reports to type up. Are there documents or assignments you need to be edited? You might even text someone in English and need to make sure you’re saying the right things. No one likes to commit faux pas (excuse my French). Whatever you are writing, I want to help you make it great–or, at least read like natural writing. Of course, it depends on your goals.

* * *

Services & Pricing

The primary services I provide are editing, proofing, and localization of text into this crazy language called English. My goal is to help writers express information and ideas for English-speaking audiences.

Pricing is usually based on a per-word basis. This is subject to change depending on the type of project. For example, with projects that have many small documents, it might be better to set a price per document. For very short documents, I will charge a minimum $13 fee. Payments can be done through PayPal, Venmo, CashApp, or Zelle.

We can work out a price and payment plan that suit your specific needs. Contact me to see if my services are right for you. Maybe we can set up a call!

I am also fluent in Portuguese (Brazil) and can offer translation and/or editing services from Portuguese into English. Find out more aqui.

Tell me about your editing needs

email: tietewaller@gmail.com

Whatsapp: +1(310)957-7463

Check out my Upwork page!


Image credit: Sora Shimazaki