Words, words, words
¡Buenos días!
¿Adonde vas?
Voy al restaurante. Quiero comer algo. ¿Quieres una cerveza?
Lo siento, no tengo mucho tiempo. Adios.
My partner and I have been using resources from the library (that is, the New York library) to supplement our Spanish learning. Audio conversational lessons that are well below our level of language, but sadly, probably right at our level of actual speaking. We haven’t learned any new vocabulary, but it probably has been helping my confidence, just forcing me to speak sentences aloud for about half an hour a day.
Social media has been in a weird space of having decided that I have lived here long enough that it no longer offers me translations for Spanish, and also every time I open it, I receive twenty thousand advertisements for language learning apps and workshops assuring me that I know enough vocabulary, but that every language class or app teaches things wrong. They are the ones who will get me unstuck so I’ll be able to speak. And then, of course, the classes they offer are roughly 850 euro — special deal, of course!
Sometimes I can be proud of the accomplishments I’m making. When I read entire messages full of indirect objects and can understand without having to guess half of the words. Sometimes I can be both proud and sad — like yesterday evening when I was riding the elevator down four floors to walk up the stairs. The elevator stopped on the floor below mine, where a woman and her small dog waited. She began to ask a question, and I motioned her in. It was only when her next question was asking if I was going down that I realized she’d first asked if I was going up, not whether I was okay with her riding with me, which is what I was expecting (elevators here can be tiny — for two, it works. More than that with unrelated people can be awkward. Picture standing in a typical US non-walk-in closet). I was excited that I didn’t panic and was ready to respond. And then I was bummed that it took me around 10 seconds too long to really understand the conversation. Sometimes it just feels so depressing that I can’t hold a deeper conversation. I don’t anticipate having many conversation about beer. And who am I going to eat with if I have nothing to say about whether or not I like certain things? I know I will keep improving. But it feels so slow. My entire life has been words. Writing. Speaking. I feel like a toddler (you know, aside from the many, many practice sentences about wine and beer).
This is what building a new life looks like. It is slow and exciting and scary and disheartening and encouraging and depressing and joyful all wrapped into one. While on one hand I know not to think too long-term — my dreams of being rooted have not worked out for me well these last 5 years — but I imagine. I wonder what life will look like ten years from now. . . and beyond. Will I fit? Will I build something good? And not just good, but great? Is this the country where I will die? Is this where future generations of my family will be? Will my grandchildren be native speakers of three languages? Will this be more home to my kids than the country we left? Will it be safe for them to return if they choose?
These might seem like bizarre things to ponder. What can I say? I’m pretty bizarre. On a personal note, I wonder if I’ll ever do real ministry work again. I know everything can be ministry — I believe and affirm that. I moved here knowing that there isn’t exactly a progressive church scene here. I would do it again. And it is hard wondering if I have preached my last sermon or served communion to folks other than my immediate family for the last time.
Quiero algo más.
We will build it. Won’t we?
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