Everyone does it. You can't live without it. It's second nature. You feel like you might die if you can't do it. Breathing, right? Admittedly. But more pertinently: communicating.
Living in America, I never gave much thought to the act of communication. I learned to speak English as any normal young kid. I never learned the rules of grammar all that well in primary school (sorry Mom and my teacher aunts), but nonetheless I figured out how to express myself coherently, even at times, elegantly. English is my maternal language, my mother tongue. I believe it's no accident that it's named as such. Who is a mother other than someone who makes you feel safe, comforted, strong, confident? Just as kids and teens take their moms for granted, we take our mother tongue for granted when living in our home country. English is a bear of a language to learn (rules are for the WEAK), but I just happened to be born in a household where it was spoken.
There are moments, days, weeks here that I wish I could go back in time 25 years and telepathically urge my parents to move a few hours north so I could have grown up in a Francophone region. What I wouldn't give to be able to speak French fluently. In every interaction, I'm painfully aware that I struggle with what is otherwise second nature. When I attempt to speak French, I feel anything but safe, comforted, strong, or confident.
Communication goes beyond the simplicity of ordering bread in a boulangerie or asking "ça va?" to a friend. Communicating isn't small talk. "Tu as passé un bon weekend?" "Oui, je suis restée chez moi, j'ai fait du bla bla bla avec bla bla bla. Qu'est-ce que tu vas faire ce weekend?" Good for you, you can make small talk. No, communication is expressing one's opinions, explaining abstract thoughts, describing an emotional state, inquiring about unknown or confusing matters. When none of this is possible, or at least feels mostly impossible, the doors of the world are closed. The people on the street are by default all judgmental and condescending. Every time I walk out my door, I put on my armor and fear that someone will start talking at me. Give me time to prepare, and I can express myself fairly well in French. But that isn't practical! If only every single life situation came with a five minute preparation period. As such, I'm in a constant state of agitation.
With lack of communicative skill comes a real inferiority complex. I don't want to rip on the French in general, but because French is the only foreign language I've attempted to really speak to natives, I only have this experience to go on. Very few times, when I speak in French, I receive encouraging nods, smiles, little suggestions or corrections. In these situations, I feel at ease, and the foreign language begins to flow smoother. More often than not, however, I get the deer-in-the-headlights reaction. See also: the squinty eyes, the impatient sighing, the looking around for an exit, or the blatant judgement/walk away. Note to tout le monde: the latter reactions are NOT GOOD. The person speaking the foreign language is already terrified of judgment for being in a different country/culture. No one wants to actively be identified as a foreigner. We're all just trying to fit in and not be negatively noticed. Add to that unease the judgement of a native while communicating and we've landed squarely on the recipe for rejection.
Not being able to express myself breeds the worst of rejection. This is the kind of really personal rejection that cuts deeply and lasts all night. My opinions and expressions represent who I am as a person. I'm just a vanilla, human-shaped cutout if I can never open my mouth and give some definition to my existence. Maybe actions speak louder than words, but that stupid cliché only gets you so far. You can't register for classes or defend a master's thesis on action alone. Unless you both know sign language, you can't become friends with a new person with only actions. This kind of rejection isn't necessarily spawned from other people either. Responding to an email or perusing an article becomes a labor of translation. Reading is no longer a pleasurable enjoyment, but a test of vocabulary and a furtive dig for verb conjugations. There is no such thing as a quickly dashed note in a foreign tongue. Each word and phrase is considered with the utmost care, and one just hopes the recipient feels generous with his standard of comprehension.
I yearn for a time when I'll be able to express myself in French in complete phrases and thoughtful opinions. At the moment, I have this monumental weight of self-consciousness that drags me back to feeling like a shy 13-year-old. Yet, I have an enormous appreciation for those who communicate every day in a foreign language. It makes me want to shake the American education system and demand foreign language classes be taught from kindergarten. Beginning a foreign language in 8th grade, as I did, is inexcusable in a world as interconnected as it is now.
Until fluency, I'm stuck giving myself little pep talks before going out into public. I suck up my pride and venture forth with simple sentences and myriad hand gestures. I smile and try my hardest. I must comfort myself with the thought that those who judge have never been in a foreign situation themselves. Maybe they have no appreciation for how difficult it is for Americans to make that guttural r sound, or the half whisper, half spit noise one has to make when saying oui, je suis, bonne nuit... ([ɥ] for the IPA junkies out there). Mostly, I enjoy how beautiful the French language is and try to be patient with myself while I'm still learning. One day, I will be able to communicate; when that day comes, I'm going to smash down all those closed doors with my powerful language. Until then, je vous souhaite une bonne nuit.
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