Idioma para Tontos

Language. It is a fundamental characteristic of the human species. No other animal has developed this capability like we, Giant Naked Mole Rats of the earth, have somehow been able to do. We use it to make requests, exchange ideas, build relationships, start wars, crack jokes, create self identities and simply pass the time. Without this secret code there would be no Coliseum, no Eiffel Tower, no skyscrapers. No wars? There’s a thought. But what is it, anyway? A simple combination of two or three guttural vocalizations, when uttered in the correct combination, has the potential to change a mood, a life or the course of a nation. How can this be?

And yet, without language, man is an island. Without communication, we lose our power as a superior species. The intelligence of one man is of little importance if he alone can benefit from it.

Imagine losing this ability to make sounds that have meaning. Imagine waking up in a world where you cannot comment on the weather, make jokes, or learn from the people around you. Your own thoughts echo back and forth, over and over again, in the hollow cave of your isolated mind. You can exist in this world. You still eat, walk, sleep and share a home with your family. But you are alone. Every person exists in a different sort of globe, a world of his or her own imagining, that will never be shared.

Living in a Spanish-speaking country can feel this way sometimes. When I first arrived in Costa Rica, I felt raw and helpless. I was newly born into a foreign species. I had reverted to toddlerdom. I could not fully participate in conversations. Jokes passed over my head completely unnoticed. Building relationships was a seemingly insurmountable feat. Conversations with my family revolved around the simplest of things: food, clothes, the weather. To share jokes or talk about political issues was an unimaginable trial. “Mas despacio”, “repite, por favor”, “no comprendo”, and “lo siento, no se” were the most essential phrases of my vocabulary. If you have ever spent time in a different culture, you know what I mean.

For some time, I thought about trashing the idea of learning Spanish altogether: apathetically accepting a monolingual existence started to sound pretty good. In fact, there were nights when I would lock myself in my room to do homework rather than face yet another frustrating conversation with my Costa Rican family. Enduring blank, uncomprehending stares and a patronizing tone normally reserved for ADD four year olds was starting to get old. It wasn’t easy. There came a point, however, when I realized that I had a choice between two routes: passively accept my identity as an extraneous member of society, or suck it up, embrace the awkwardness and chip away at the tedious conversations until something started to change.

Well, I’m sure you can guess what I decided to do. I have been in Costa Rica for about six weeks now, and every day speaking in Spanish becomes more and more natural. Conversations flow more smoothly. When talk to my family, we can share humor (of sorts) and converse about more than just the current temperature. Newspaper articles are more easily interpreted; TV shows start to make sense. I even catch myself thinking in Spanish and slipping Spanish words into English conversations (i.e. “donde the heck are my shoes?” or “I was comiendo lunch with my familia…”). I am by no means fluent. My Spanish is still riddled with grammatical errors, and my store of vocabulary is a little emaciated. But the progress is there, and I am excited to keep learning. I still make mistakes every day; rather than sources of frustration, however, they have become indispensable teachers. At this point, I have progressed from preschool to kindergarten, and I am ready to continue learning, growing and embarrassing myself until I can speak the language with ease.