"C'est pas français!" After hearing this phrase numerous times a week it becomes less frank criticism and more nagging antagonism.
There have been times in the past three weeks when wanting to learn gets intimidating and turns into wanting to return to what I already know. This is, I fear, when one settles for ignorance.
Since language is the heart of a culture it is critical that I speak French as much as possible. As such I have entered into a love hate relationship with the french language and my maternal language has been reduced to a guilty pleasure.
Let me begin by saying that I will never, ever again make fun of anyone for having a strong accent or not speaking English in America. Speaking another language fluently is unbelievably challenging, not to mention intimidating.
Learning another language is also exhausting. It requires a focused motivation and a will to be emerged at all times. I constantly rearrange my sentences to compensate for all the words I do not know. Sometimes by the end of the day full immersion feels like drowning.
And forget having any sense of pride. I know I am, at the very least, a competent person in english. On a good day I can even be funny or insightful. But speak in a language not my own and I sound like I just discovered fire. Pointing and grunting have indeed become regular expressions in my speech pattern.
English has become a daily indulgence. Pronouncing hard r's or not ending a word with a vowel sound feels as relieving as taking off a pair of high heels. I love our nonsensical double and triple diphthongs. I love that at least one person is going to chuckle at the word diphthong because english sets people up like that. I love that I can make up a new word in the name of slang and its totally okay. Perfundkle. That just happened, deal with it Microsoft Word!
But at the risk of sounding like I do not appreciate this opportunity, I still want to continue my passionate love affair with the French language. I find the pure vowel sounds beautiful. Some of the simplest words in French are so poetic, like "pomme de terre" which means potato but translates to "apple of the earth."
Meeting one of the Aixois and successfully having a conversation in French puts me on cloud nine. I have made friends with a woman who makes crepes and a kind man at the fruit market. Then there is my host. She is an incredibly kind woman who can not speak English and is extremely patient as I mangle her beautiful language.
But so far my favorite moment was when I was in a book store cafe with my friends and a French guy approached us and asked if he could talk to us. We spent four hours going back and forth exchanging idiomatic expressions in both English and French, playing a sort of game to discover each other's cultures. One I left with was, "C'est la goutte d'eau qui fait déborder la vase." It translates to the drop of water that made the vase overflow or the french equivalent of the straw that broke the camel's back. "À force d'explications ça finira par entrer" or, explain it for long enough and it will sink in.
So learning a new language is also fun. It is moments like these that break up the frustrating daily encounter when I speak French and the other person responds in English. It gives me hope that at the end of all this I will not just be a voyeur or pretender.
I know now my frustration comes from feeling like an outsider. Although I do not know if I will ever feel like an insider, I know the more I speak and struggle the easier the language will become. Donc, bien que j'ai les dents longues, à coeur vaillant rien d'impossible, or, even though I am ambitious, nothing is impossible for a willing heart.
There have been times in the past three weeks when wanting to learn gets intimidating and turns into wanting to return to what I already know. This is, I fear, when one settles for ignorance.
Since language is the heart of a culture it is critical that I speak French as much as possible. As such I have entered into a love hate relationship with the french language and my maternal language has been reduced to a guilty pleasure.
Let me begin by saying that I will never, ever again make fun of anyone for having a strong accent or not speaking English in America. Speaking another language fluently is unbelievably challenging, not to mention intimidating.
Learning another language is also exhausting. It requires a focused motivation and a will to be emerged at all times. I constantly rearrange my sentences to compensate for all the words I do not know. Sometimes by the end of the day full immersion feels like drowning.
And forget having any sense of pride. I know I am, at the very least, a competent person in english. On a good day I can even be funny or insightful. But speak in a language not my own and I sound like I just discovered fire. Pointing and grunting have indeed become regular expressions in my speech pattern.
English has become a daily indulgence. Pronouncing hard r's or not ending a word with a vowel sound feels as relieving as taking off a pair of high heels. I love our nonsensical double and triple diphthongs. I love that at least one person is going to chuckle at the word diphthong because english sets people up like that. I love that I can make up a new word in the name of slang and its totally okay. Perfundkle. That just happened, deal with it Microsoft Word!
But at the risk of sounding like I do not appreciate this opportunity, I still want to continue my passionate love affair with the French language. I find the pure vowel sounds beautiful. Some of the simplest words in French are so poetic, like "pomme de terre" which means potato but translates to "apple of the earth."
Meeting one of the Aixois and successfully having a conversation in French puts me on cloud nine. I have made friends with a woman who makes crepes and a kind man at the fruit market. Then there is my host. She is an incredibly kind woman who can not speak English and is extremely patient as I mangle her beautiful language.
But so far my favorite moment was when I was in a book store cafe with my friends and a French guy approached us and asked if he could talk to us. We spent four hours going back and forth exchanging idiomatic expressions in both English and French, playing a sort of game to discover each other's cultures. One I left with was, "C'est la goutte d'eau qui fait déborder la vase." It translates to the drop of water that made the vase overflow or the french equivalent of the straw that broke the camel's back. "À force d'explications ça finira par entrer" or, explain it for long enough and it will sink in.
So learning a new language is also fun. It is moments like these that break up the frustrating daily encounter when I speak French and the other person responds in English. It gives me hope that at the end of all this I will not just be a voyeur or pretender.
I know now my frustration comes from feeling like an outsider. Although I do not know if I will ever feel like an insider, I know the more I speak and struggle the easier the language will become. Donc, bien que j'ai les dents longues, à coeur vaillant rien d'impossible, or, even though I am ambitious, nothing is impossible for a willing heart.