Archive | March, 2014

23 year old me, meet 33 year old me

26 Mar

My new Facebook friend Gabi Moskowitz just had a birthday, and commemorated the occasion with a new blog post entitled “a letter to my 22 year old self”. Such a simple, beautiful idea, and since my birthday is coming up…in a matter of minutes, I thought I would reflect on how far I have come in the last ten years.

One reason I still unabashedly like birthdays and look forward to them with glee is that they are good moments to mark how far we may or may not have come in life. Over the last few days, I have been waging an all-out battle against a coming cold. Having a cold is always awful, but god forbid you have one on your day of days, your birthday. The feeling of dread at getting sick at this time of year makes me recall a birthday when I was younger, perhaps my 10th birthday. The birthday is a marker of time. This year I was sick, that year I was homesick. You think about friends who were present some years, absent in other years. Two years ago when I turned 31 I celebrated with a new friend who I was convinced was going to be my partner in crime. Two single ladies in the city! And yet not long after that birthday, she began dating a guy who she is with to this day. We haven’t remained close. So the people I celebrate the day with also mark the time. Friendships lost and gained. The temporal nature of friendship as seen through one day over the years.

So what was I doing ten years ago when I turned 23? I was living in France, and trying to survive my way through the worst year of my life. At the time I just wanted to blink my eyes and transport myself, Spock-like, to mid-April, when I would return home and leave my life of alienation in the French countryside (that year, Lost in Translation came out. It deeply resonated with the cultural isolation I was living through). But as I look back on that year and mostly cringe- the weight gain, the pimply skin, the crippling social anxiety, the even more crippling homesickness- I see the silver linings in that awful year abroad after college. I learned what anxiety, depression, fear, and shame feel like. They’re pretty awful. But empathy is only learned by living one’s own life. You can read about grief all you want, but can’t know another’s grief until you have felt it yourself.  After my year of profound loneliness and self-doubt in the village, I came out the other side, another person. With a newfound empathy for those who suffer (not long after returning home I struck up a close friendship with a friend serving in Iraq, who also was feeling isolated and alone. Our situations were different, but nevertheless I related), I emerged from the other side of my 23rd birthday with the first hints of the strength adn independence that guide me through my 33rd year.

On that sunny Saturday in Paris ten years ago that I celebrated my birthday, I did so alongside my friend from Barcelona. Ten years later, we remain the closest of friends, and I am still grateful for the gift of her friendship. At the time I couldn’t believe that someone could be friends with someone like me who was obviously going through a tough time. And yet our resulting friendship is proof that the best people in your life will be those who get to know you and stay by your side when you are not necessarily at your best. So on my 23rd birthday, as I strolled the streets of Paris with Ana and other foreign friends, counting the days til I got home, I had no idea that in ten years I would be infinitely stronger, more resilient, as a result of that long ago year. And, as always, a work in progress.

 

 

 

 

Should You Learn French?

19 Mar
French

French

I could be a little show off and roll my r’s in that pronounced, Alex Trebek way. Say Paris in that way that hides the ‘r’ in Paris? Yes, I speak French, as a third language. I have few occasions to use it, but I have found my knowledge of the language to be useful primarily as a means of reading. Enjoying Jean Paul Sartre, Amelie Nothomb and Bernard Henri Levy in the original has been greatly rewarding for me. But would I encourage others to learn French? Sadly, the answer is non.

Yet I have always had a tough time understanding learning a new language with utilitarian ends. I initially chose to study Spanish because I had always spoken it, so there was little question. I studied Spanish for the same reason every other bilingual Mexican kid studies it: it’s easy. Of course, the first two years of Spanish are easy. You smirk as other kids struggle with the fact that the double ‘ll’ is said as an English ‘y’ sound (instead of like the English llama). But then, as you progress in your Spanish study (because it allows you to be immersed in Spanish for an hour a day at school, yay!), it gets harder. It’s not just a matter of imitating what you hear at home, the grammar gets more complex. So if you’re like me, you start studying French, as a challenge.

I also studied Arabic for three weeks during grad school, as a way of learning about my Lebanese roots (pet peeve: when people say, “Do you speak Lebanese?” That’s not a language, dummy!). In the class were young professionals looking to get ahead in their political/intelligence/foreign service careers. I was possibly the only person there with an interest in Arab civilization. It was jarring to encounter people who studied a language not for the fun of it, but because of its perceived utility. I have friends who have proclaimed their intention to teach their young child Chinese, because it is so useful. You see, in the 80’s that useful language was Japanese, and before that, any aspiring young diplomat learned Russian. So the language du jour changes. But our culture and intersts do not. I could have grown up in a time when speaking Spanish was not considered an asset. So I don’t speak Spanish, or French, because they’re useful. I speak them because I like them. They’re now a part of me. Let your culture and interests guide you in choosing which language to study.