Last night, one of my co-workers launched her first poetry book. Family and friends gathered proudly to celebrate what I consider (and I’m sure they all agree) to be a glorious achievement. Baring your soul for the whole world to hear (and in such a beautiful way, no less) takes an intimidating amount of courage.
I know she was nervous through all of it, but in the end she gave us all one of the greatest gifts you can give to another person: the permission to feel. Within minutes of starting, there wasn’t a dry eye in the room. If there was, I couldn’t see it anyway through my own little flood of tears.
Words still fail me now, a day later, to describe the wonderful experience that followed. An hour and a half filled with honest, soulful poetry, soul-stirring stories and great tunes (courtesy of her fiancée) - all of which struck different chords and brought in a whirlwind of emotions.
Tears aside, it was a welcome reminder that I can still be touched by my own native language.
See, before this experience, it had been a while since I read anything of substance in my own language. I had no idea just how much I missed it. And it got me thinking.
Am I missing out for not writing in my own language? Am I consciously choosing to write in English because it’s easier - not from a fluency but a vulnerability standpoint?
Is English a thick coat of words I put on to protect myself?
More than once, I came here wanting to bare my soul. The story I had in my head didn’t sound pretty or even intelligible. I wasn’t speaking anyone’s language but my own. So I took my thick coat of English words and covered it until there was just enough left to make sense.
It worked, I got my message across. But sometimes that feels like cheating.
Now, I’m not saying English enables me to lie or pretend. Everything I write here is true and (generally) unfiltered. It’s me, just maybe a more watered down version than I would like.
I might start by reading more (poetry) in my own language. Get reacquainted with its wide range of emotions, its unique, untranslatable words and all its nuances. Learn to fall hopelessly in love with it all over again.
Take off the thick English coat once in a while.
And realize that I can always make room for more vulnerability. The people around me are constantly showing me how.
Such a beautiful observation and extraordinary challenge to consider. As someone who only speaks English, I often wonder how many words and concepts that exist in other languages that I’ll never know. I love reading your posts, keep it up.
Really interesting perspective on how language informs our reading, writing, and thinking. This is why they go hand in hand.
Well done for supporting your friend, Andrea. And keep the jacket on. It's a cold world out there.