And once again… I find myself without a mouth. Instead, I rely on my facial expressions, on my actions and on the various global sounds we all make. All the Japanese I have learned seems to have done more than go for a walk, it’s gone on holiday and will come back into my mind in its own time. I feel like Mr Bean, in that I am not able to say anything but also in that I am making a fool of myself on the regular. I am learning to embrace it a little bit more.
Learning a language really is a combination of learning the rules, as well as being open to making mistakes. Every new language you learn has a journey of its own, and I am discovering that Japanese will be a different experience for me once again. Yesterday, as I was trying to figure out the train system, I asked a train guard for directions. He repeated the name of the station back to me to confirm, and I nodded my head. “Oui”… “si”… “hai!” I shook my head, how many languages were in there? He laughed and said “ it’s okay.” I knew that this would just be the start of a long series of errors that I was about to make.
And indeed, my confidence would be tested again. I decided to go to a restaurant for dinner tonight, a chain that I’ve been to before and knew would be good. I walked in, and I must have started off well because the lady at the counter then began talking in Japanese quickly and confidently. My eyes widened, I smiled nervously and I made a sound but I didn’t know what was coming out. She kept explaining in Japanese again, and it was at this point that I realised the Japanese are not like the Italians – they don’t move their hands at all when they speak. I felt a little stranded in an ocean of syllables and nervous glances. Finally, I understood that she was telling me to sit wherever I wanted.
As I sat down, I gathered myself a little bit. I heard some giggling coming from the kitchen. Normally, I would feel shame. Me, the one who always did well in school, the one who was always told she was smart and that it was important as a woman to be intelligent. I have realised over the last few years that performing well had become a matter of pride for me, but I sat at that table and I started laughing with them. I took a breath, and then began my next task: how on earth would I order this food?
Luckily, there was a tablet just beside me. I pressed the screen and a red exclamation mark with a whole range of Japanese characters came up. I have realised in the last couple of days that because I cannot replicate Japanese characters on my phone, I cannot translate anything in Japanese offline. While I was tapping away, desperately trying to find wifi, the same lady at the counter came over to me. She took the tablet and organised everything for me, changing the language to English. I smiled and was touched that she had seen I was struggling and came over to help. I think it was this kindness that made the food taste extra delicious when it later came to my table.
It got me thinking about another time I was in this situation, when I first started living in France. I was so self-conscious of people’s judgment there, that I had let people laugh at me. I forgot that I could also choose to laugh with them. Maybe then, if I saw the situation from their point of view, it could enable me to relate to them on a level that was deeper than language.
Isn’t that what learning a language is all about anyway? To put yourself in the mind of the speaker, to dive into thousands of years of history and somehow have your head rise above the water so you can speak with others in this modern age. It’s meant to be a laugh – bouncing around all over the place until you become steady. Until you, like all other speakers native or otherwise, can find the tracks that keep you in place, upright and moving with the language instead of chasing after it. Until you can discover an entirely new side of yourself, one that you may not have known was even there.
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