C’est comme ça
Ah, la la la la–Rita Mitsouko/C’est Comme Ça
I was driving to work the other day, singing along to a French pop song and then an Italian pop song, and then a Turkish pop song and something occurred to me that was related to something I wrote recently about what I’m good at.
It occurred to me that I am quite good at learning new languages.
It’s probably my biggest talent and it did not even occur to me to mention it when I was writing about things I am good at.
What does it say about me that I can just forget one of the things I am best at? I would like to think that it means that I’m modest. Except that would be false. I’m not particularly modest.
I am so good at languages that I can even sing along to a Turkish pop song when I don’t speak Turkish except to say “I love you.”**
It didn’t occur to me that I had an aptitude for languages until college, although I went through 4 years of Spanish in my last year of High School which should probably have been a pretty big clue. I didn’t think it was unusual, in spite of the fact that no one else was doing it. I just thought Spanish was easy for me because I already spoke French.
Maybe I am a little modest.
In college I added in Italian, and started to figure out that not everyone else was doing as well as I was. However, I also thought I was extra motivated because the instructor was very…Northern Italian. I like that in a man. No, that’s not why I got good grades. Not entirely why.
My point?
Oh, I don’t have one. I just wanted to let you know that I remembered that I forgot something.
I’ll try to have some sort of point in my next post.
**Why I know how to say “I love you” in Turkish is a kind of long story involving my Columbian roommate having a massive crush on a guy from Izmir, a party thrown by a bunch of guys from Venezuela and a really gorgeous guy from Ankara who I fell for hard at said party. I think it’s the only time I’ve ever worn a jumpsuit and actually looked good. It’s completely irrelevant to this post. Both the jumpsuit and the story about the Turks and Venezuelans are. Irrelevant. Oh. Well. It’s here now. I guess it can stay.
The jumpsuit was shimmery copper-colored silk, and my beautiful Columbian friend made me borrow it from her because it would drive the men loco. It kind of did.
What?
Right. Still irrelevant.
Stopping now!
His name was Ömer.
He seemed pretty relevant at the time.