Author: Michelle

Ce soir quand même j’ai compris,
Faut pas dire à qui je ressemble,
Faut dire qui je suis.

–Francis Cabrel/Rosie

If you’re someone who speaks at least one language other than your own pretty well, especially if you’ve lived in a country where you’ve had to speak that language more or less exclusively, what I’m about to talk about might seem clear to you, but I suspect it’s something that most mono-lingual folks have never thought about. Wow. That sentence kind of sucked. It’s so bad that I’m leaving it here as a monument.

Let’s try that again, shall we?

When you speak or write in another language, it  changes the way you communicate. Some of the reasons are very obvious. It’s harder to find words in a language you’re still learning. Your vocabulary is simply smaller. There may be words that are very common in daily life that they don’t teach you in the average language class. I’ll bet none of you learned the words for “just a trim” or “I hate bangs” in a language class. Or how to say “bleach” or “toenail clippers.” The first time I went grocery shopping in France, when I couldn’t find the light bulbs I had to ask for the things that you put in a lamp to make the light. It is tiring having to work so hard at making yourself understood.

When you’re living in a second language, you also have to consider what you say more than you might in your native language. Otherwise, you might end up becoming a humorous anecdote when you talk about how bad the dead prostitute at the side of the road smelled. Prostitute/skunk. Totally different words. Putain/putois. I used the wrong one.

Beyond that, though, even when you speak another language fluently, your personality changes subtly depending on the language you speak .

When I lived in France, I was a lot more serious than I am in English. It was harder to be funny, for one thing. So much about humor depends on very precise word manipulation. Culturally, too, humor is very different. There are contexts that you just aren’t familiar with–TV shows, movies, popular songs, political parties, politicians–so most of the comedy world is simply dark to you in a non-native language until you’ve lived in a country for a very long time. The French don’t seem to get irony, so I may never have been funny again if I’d stayed in France.

I suspect if I stayed in Italy for any length of time, I could be funny there.  I will need to go there for approximately 3 years to determine that for certain. I’m sure work and my husband will not mind.

There are also things you end up  not saying because there are no exact translations for them. It’s hard to explain yourself in your own language sometimes, and it’s much worse in a non-native language even if you speak it very well.

Personality traits that are culturally related can also be an issue. In Italy I was continually asked to speak up.  One of my friends asked me not to smile so much because it seemed like I was flirting when I was really just walking around. In most of Europe you don’t smile and say hello to strangers. You certainly wouldn’t start a conversation with strangers in line like we do in the US. On the other hand, with their friends, Italians are very affectionate. Everyone has a nickname or a diminutive. Terms of endearment are charming and a little over the top compared to the usual American “sweetie” and “honey.” Try treasure or sparrow.  Lots of hugging, lots of laughing, lots of talking.

In France things are more restrained.  You get  2 or 3 kisses on the cheek when you greet a friend, (depending on where you are in France) but there’s very little hugging even among friends. There is a lot of conversation. I wonder if that’s changed with the cell phone?

A difference between Italy and France when dealing with American friendliness? The Italians think it’s kind of cute. When I smiled and chatted with the staff at a restaurant in Italy  they thought I was adorable, they remembered me AND  how I took my coffee the next time I came in, and they asked me to help them deal with some American vegans who came in. (Hint: in Italy, good luck if you’re a vegan) In France, if you tried to chat with the staff in a restaurant you would get a very blank expression.

You can probably tell who I enjoy more, can’t you?

France is a beautiful country. It’s a glorious language. The food and wine are great.

Italy is just as beautiful, the language is so fun to speak and read, the food and wine are divine, and they have Italians there.

 

Which has nothing to do with anything linguistic, I know, except maybe as motivation.I just love Italians.

“Are there conjugal visits in Oregon prisons?

Not surprisingly, no one in my Healthcare/IT workplace knew a thing about conjugal visits. One person even had to have the purpose of a conjugal visit explained to her. That was fun listening.

Oddly, the conversation then veered  into a very heated discussion of jaywalking.

People at my work apparently care deeply about jaywalking.

 

The answer, by the way, is that there are not conjugal visits in the Oregon State prison system.

 

Running over the same old ground.
What have we found?
The same old fears.

–Pink Floyd/Wish You Were Here

 

Whatever gets you through the night is alright.

–John Lennon

 

As someone who is slow to both fall asleep and wake up, I spend a lot of time in what I think of as the in-between space of life.  The space between being asleep and being awake.  It’s not quite a dream space, but it isn’t quite consciousness either. It’s almost-but-not-quite-asleep. If someone were to talk to me, I think I’d respond, but it’d take me a second to shake out of it.

For me it seems to be kind of a what-if space. I have conversations there I wish I could really have. Or that I wish I hadn’t had. Or that I did have and wish had gone differently. Or sometimes theg just seem like random discussions about life.  It’s pretty much always a conversation,  rather than anything film-like or full of images. I’m not sure there even are images.  Sometimes there are snippets of gestures, but I feel them more than see them.  A caress.  A hand brushing my hair back.

The in-between space doesn’t feel dreamlike, but it doesn’t feel like reality either. I don’t have, I don’t think, much control over what is said there. It’s often related to something I’ve been thinking about, or maybe trying not to think about, in my awake life. Often I know who I’m talking with, but a lot of the time I don’t. Sometimes I can’t even distinguish specific words, it’s just a sort of reassuring whisper nuzzled against my ear. Words  just kind of stream into my head.

Very occasionally a phrase will sort of pop out at me that I feel like I need to remember, so I’ll get up and write it down. Often I’ll remember segments of the conversation, but they’re mostly ephemeral. I’ll remember the mood more than the precise content.

I  think the internal conversations help me sort through things that I need to work out. They’re part of my internal CPU. I used to think it held  me back to hear people speaking to me from the past. Now I think if I really listen to what they’re saying I can process the lesson and move forward. Whatever they say, I would really miss them all if they went away. It’s not a bad way to start and end the day most of the time.

Then again, if I Googled it, I’m sure I’d find out that it’s a symptom of incipient psychosis.

Please don’t tell me if it is.