Words! Words! Words! I'm so sick of words!
-Eliza Dolittle
Considering my current occupation has to do
with language, I’ve been thinking about words a lot. I don’t think I appreciated
how privileged I was in my chosen silence back home, now that I lack the
ability (and not the desire) to break it. Having to consciously choose words
and their order, as well as cultural nuances that just don’t transfer over, builds
my anxiety upon an already higher-than-normal threshold. The most recent
example of how debilitating this can be is quite simple: I need a haircut. In
the US I was always reluctant to call for appointments, but when pressed I
would do it. Here, it’s not only the normal phone anxiety, but also the
Japanese anxiety, as well as not knowing the specific expressions and phrases used
for haircuts or the making of their appointments. So I’ve gone nearly a year
and a half now without a haircut and am probably going to give up and attempt
one myself.
Besides the situational woes of (foreign)
language, I find more and more the shortcomings. A feeling I may be able to say
in one or two words in one language would take sentences to describe in the other
because of the understood context. More often than not, I end up speaking too
much in an attempt to properly explain myself and to not offend the other party
(which probably only frustrates them anyway).
Something that’s really been on my mind
lately is writing. Any of you who know me know I love to read. I’m always in
the middle of at least one if not several books at all times. Because I love
reading I’ve always wanted to write my own stories and give back to the metaphorical
pool. And while I can imagine interesting scenarios or characters or places, it’s
so difficult to accurately transcribe them. Sure, with whatever I write down I
can recall the emotional and psychological response that originally prompted
it, but even then I can see how hollow it would seem to others because I know
the words are only the barest shadow of what I’m really seeing and feeling.
On another note, this blog is a great
example of my incompetence at language. I cannot convey why seemingly
monotonous day-to-day occurrences make me beam with happiness without
explaining fully the situations that led up to them and my reactions. Likewise,
the frustrating or sorrowful moments cannot be accurately conveyed without
causing others worry or grief. I don’t want to sound self-glorifying or self-pitying.
Nor do I want to boast in my circumstances or deride them. And so, I usually
rely on the old saying, “If you have nothing nice to say, don’t say anything at
all.”
I am
sorry. One would think the whole point of a blog is to have a streamlined way
of sharing my experiences here, and I had wanted that to be so. And while I do
not plan on discontinuing with any certain finality, I also do not plan on
feeling guilty anymore for not posting something regularly. One thing I can “update”
about my life here is that I’m striving to no longer be apologetic for my
existence. It kind of feels like I’ve become a bit jaded, but I’m finding fewer
and fewer excuses for other people when they’re rude or unkind. And while I’ll
still forgive them, I don’t care to indulge them anymore. My time is better
spent without the extra hot air.
