On my flight to Costa Rica, I was reminded of the time when, while attempting my very first Elementary Spanish assignment, I mistook the Spanish word “llamas” for the plural form of the English word "llama," denoting the South American camelid bred largely for its wool (not its skills in magic). I remembered being totally confused, finding no relevance at all between this peculiar animal and my workbook exercise; and, eventually, I resorted to calling my younger sister, who had studied Spanish for several years in high school. Her response was helpful but humiliating. “Llamas,” she explained, a Spanish conjugation of the reflexive verb “llamarse,” meaning “to be called,” is actually pronounced “yah-mahs” – not “lah-muz.” My foolish mistake was the result of a failure to link the double-L to the “yah” sound. I had never studied the language before and, consequently, I had no knowledge of this very basic linguistic nuance. Since then, my family has loved giving me a hard time about this embarrassing misstep.
I smiled at this anecdote while I flew over the southeastern United States, convincing myself that I was nearly a Spanish expert compared to those days. How wrong I was! Just over 48 hours into my summer in Ciudad Colón, I can’t help but feel as though I’ve jumped into the deep end without any ability at all to swim. I’ve been utterly unsuccessful in understanding the native Costa Ricans (the “ticos,” as they are called), and my own attempts at communicating in Spanish have been dismal at best. Luckily, there are enough English-speakers that I have not been forced into complete, monastic silence; but the experience so far has been extremely isolating. My personality, I have realized, relies almost entirely on my capacity to talk, to joke, and to engage with others. So far, I have not been able to do any of these things on any meaningful level. And, accordingly, my first few days have been a bit demoralizing.
But, today, I noticed an uplifting paradox in these circumstances: through isolation, I have found companionship. Christer Persson, a Swedish professor of International Law and Human Rights at UPEACE, genuinely offered me his help this morning and assured me that he knew firsthand what it was like to be young and alone in a foreign place. Last night, at the university’s commencement, I met a man from Alabama who told me that he, too, had traveled to Latin America some years ago without any knowledge of Spanish; learning it that way, he insisted, was the best way to do it. Finally, this afternoon, I had coffee with Elena García, a UPEACE intern from Spain, who recounted her experiences of learning English while living in London. She promised to assist me in mastering Spanish by refusing to talk to me in English, and she very generously bore with me through a laborious twenty-minute attempt at a Spanish conversation. Certainly not the most painless strategy, but I think it’s what I need!
I will keep these three encounters in mind as the days and weeks transpire. Indeed, my cultural isolation is not an unusual plight – no matter how much it has felt like it thus far. Many millions have done it before me and many millions will continue to do so in the future. All who endure this isolation will find companionship through others who have treaded similar paths – immigrants, exchange students, travelers. This companionship is quite unique, as it is contingent on a particular set of experiences, disappointments, exclusions, and difficulties. Those who manage this isolation seem to have a special bond – a bond that is unknown to those who never leave the comforts of their familiar cohorts.
More than anything else, these first few days have taught me to believe that all isolation has the potential to generate some valuable form of companionship. At least this is what I’ll tell myself until I can actually speak Spanish!
I smiled at this anecdote while I flew over the southeastern United States, convincing myself that I was nearly a Spanish expert compared to those days. How wrong I was! Just over 48 hours into my summer in Ciudad Colón, I can’t help but feel as though I’ve jumped into the deep end without any ability at all to swim. I’ve been utterly unsuccessful in understanding the native Costa Ricans (the “ticos,” as they are called), and my own attempts at communicating in Spanish have been dismal at best. Luckily, there are enough English-speakers that I have not been forced into complete, monastic silence; but the experience so far has been extremely isolating. My personality, I have realized, relies almost entirely on my capacity to talk, to joke, and to engage with others. So far, I have not been able to do any of these things on any meaningful level. And, accordingly, my first few days have been a bit demoralizing.
But, today, I noticed an uplifting paradox in these circumstances: through isolation, I have found companionship. Christer Persson, a Swedish professor of International Law and Human Rights at UPEACE, genuinely offered me his help this morning and assured me that he knew firsthand what it was like to be young and alone in a foreign place. Last night, at the university’s commencement, I met a man from Alabama who told me that he, too, had traveled to Latin America some years ago without any knowledge of Spanish; learning it that way, he insisted, was the best way to do it. Finally, this afternoon, I had coffee with Elena García, a UPEACE intern from Spain, who recounted her experiences of learning English while living in London. She promised to assist me in mastering Spanish by refusing to talk to me in English, and she very generously bore with me through a laborious twenty-minute attempt at a Spanish conversation. Certainly not the most painless strategy, but I think it’s what I need!
I will keep these three encounters in mind as the days and weeks transpire. Indeed, my cultural isolation is not an unusual plight – no matter how much it has felt like it thus far. Many millions have done it before me and many millions will continue to do so in the future. All who endure this isolation will find companionship through others who have treaded similar paths – immigrants, exchange students, travelers. This companionship is quite unique, as it is contingent on a particular set of experiences, disappointments, exclusions, and difficulties. Those who manage this isolation seem to have a special bond – a bond that is unknown to those who never leave the comforts of their familiar cohorts.
More than anything else, these first few days have taught me to believe that all isolation has the potential to generate some valuable form of companionship. At least this is what I’ll tell myself until I can actually speak Spanish!
No comments:
Post a Comment