You make
an excellent point, Mr. Ralph Waldo Emerson, when you say,
“No man
should travel until he has learned the language of the country he visits.
Otherwise he voluntarily makes himself a great baby, so helpless and so
ridiculous.”
You’re
well known for your philosophies. And I’m an admirer of your literature. My goodness, I’m a firm believer that countries needn't have signs posted in every language, in case a foreigner drops in.
And I
honestly tried, Mr. Emerson. I had a good run, many years with the Spanish language,
with good classroom teachers. I had tutors as well, native speakers nonetheless.
And all the grammatical and conversational practice I could exasperate. I did the
homework, almost always with good marks.
And now I know
this baby you speak of. I have at once felt dependent and ridiculous,
speaking my Spanish with all urgency, summoning the best r’s my tongue could waggle. Hoping someone could help me find my
way when I was lost. Tis a paradox, Mr. Emerson, that my first week here, I
found myself lost walking to Spanish class, and unable to find anyone who could
help me find my school.
But I wonder,
sir, if you don’t know the joy of being, at times, a bit ridiculous. How fun it is accidentally to be just one letter off a
word, and making friends because of it. You can’t have known the happiness – in
a truly Donald Trump moment – to mean to say you’re going to waken someone in the morning, and instead to fire them. Oh, I’ve made
memories that will last well beyond the experience, having said – with every assurance
– that I have just bathed with orange
juice. And you can imagine the conversational detour after the incidental
mixing up of tired with married. And when I stated after a good
meal – so straight-faced – that I was crying
instead of full. I was but a letter
different when I said I’d carry the party
instead of just show up. And please don't get me started on the number of times I've misheard hambre for hombre, being asked if I was hungry, and trying to explain why I don't have a man. All with a
perfect Southern accent. And by Southern, I don't mean South American.
It does
no good to put on airs in this new place. I can’t help but smile when they call me a gringa. It makes me think,
though I might be ridiculous, that I have made some new friends, and without
even trying very hard. That some people here in Latin America might be enjoying
a good laugh, as I am. And that deep down, they have – for an extraordinary
moment – an opinion of Americans that we couldn’t possibly be arrogant.
It’s a
fun awkward, and honestly, when I’m finally able to speak fine Spanish, I
wonder what in the world will amuse me.
Research shows that learning a new language can stave off early onset of dementia. Yes, amid all the laughing, you could say that it makes for a very good
medicine.
