Hola! Hmm….

Back to the books, er, los libros.

Yeah, how was it that I “technically” just spoke in Spanish with a teacher and another student for three hours?! Yet, ask me to repeat any of it now and, well, you’ll get some hemming and hawing that might not be discernible in either language. To better qualify, thirty percent of my participation during the lesson was Italian or some sort of combination thereof, as somehow the nascent Italian I stumbled through during two years of undergrad percolates to the surface the moment I’m in any foreign country (it need not be Italy). However, when I do have the good fortune to be in Italy, 8th grade Spanish elbows Italian right out of the way in order to come out first. Now, here in Santiago, I find myself grabbing for short Italian straws when I’m trying to tell my ever-patient, kind, and all-around lovely maestra (see, that’s Italian) which two streets my house is between or that my cup (vaso, not copa, fyi) has coffee in it (of course it does).

Nonetheless, it was riveting (read: exhausting) to communicate completely in my target language for such an extended period of time (my longest Spanish convo to date happened in a check-out line). Even if the vocabulary was sparse and everything was in the present tense, it was the kickstart I needed to know that I can leave the house and communicate. That I will. That my ability to do so will improve. Let’s not forget, I’m doing this all over again tomorrow (for hundreds of tomorrows).

After all, we learn about ourselves all over again when we have to translate our ideas, jokes, professions, family stats, etc., into another language for others to figure out who the heck we are. It’s the self, once removed, if you will. For instance, now I know: Yo soy periodista. Estoy estudiando pedagogía en Inglés. Let’s stop there; that will do. Back home, I could spin yarns about working in magazines for however many years now, how I studied English and Creative Writing as an undergrad and grad and TA’ed for that senior thesis class. Oh, you lived in NY then, too? Oh, you’ve read such-and-such also? Wasn’t that great?! Et cetera. Here, my relevant professional background and interests boil down to two short sentences, which is two more than I had when I left the house and didn’t know the word for pencil (lápiz). Class was wonderful because my hitherto-truncated personality peeked out to say hello. For three weeks in Chile, I’ve been used to having a joke at the ready and absolutely no way to express it (and the punchline won’t really wait for Google Translate). Instead, it’s usually been a laugh and a nod and there you have it.

I know I’m not the first person to move to a foreign country sans competence in said foreign country’s language. I remember from the reassurance of others that once I start dreaming in the new language, that will be the sign. At that point, I will be immersed! I will be fluent(ish)! There has been absolutely nada dreaming in Spanish, but I did have an interesting and perhaps revealing dream… I got added to the old cast of SNL and got to do a skit with Tina Fey and Jimmy Fallon (I know, best dream ever). Except, things went horribly wrong. I had to wend my way through the skit with a male Russian accent, I spent the whole time waiting for the laughs, and Tina got fired for hiring me. When I shared this dream with Ryan, he said he had some similar “acting/performance” dreams when he first moved here because that’s exactly what speaking in a foreign tongue — for most of the day — demands of you: performed language, performed self. One day, they merge, right? I guess that’s when I’ll start dreaming in Spanish. And Tina Fey won’t get fired for my lame jokes.

Okay, best get going on my homework in my book that, like class, sports ZERO English! I guess my Italian-Spanish will just have to figure out the rest.

Hasta luego!