I have been a lousy traveler, and if possible, an even lousier travel writer. A week has passed since my arrival in Bordeaux, and though the cogs of my brain have been turning (supposedly), my eyes have been observing (supposedly), my nose smelling (evidently), and mouth tasting (definitely true), these feelings and sensations have yet to manifest themselves into something greater. Like, a blog entry. Or writing of any kind, in fact. I would like to blame this on the tremendous stress I (i.e. the country of France and its educational administrations) have put myself through, but I can’t take full credit. Internet connections have been spotty at best. Brains have been spotty at best. My brain has been spotty at best. But I’m back. I am [more] settled. I am ready to share my unsolicited thoughts.
To begin:
I am pleased to announce that I’ve reached a point in my French speaking and France living where I no longer consider la Langue Française an outstandingly beautiful language. This actually strikes me as something fairly major. Moving from the realm of “foreign” into the realm of “normal/attainable/accessible,” French has finally shown me that it lives.
In the ten or so hours of assistant de langue orientation I’ve sat through in the last two days, I’ve had plenty of time to think about what the term “living language” actually means. My conclusions might differ from those presented, but here they are nonetheless:
A language lives when it retains the potential to change. When, invoked by the mouths of its speakers, it has the possibility of mutation, of elision, of slang, of ugliness. Languages, should they persist, cannot be stagnant. I'm sure this seems very obvious, and would be in any kind of linguistic text out there, but it's only beginning to seem real and true to me now. A personal revelation, if you will.
We are bound by the confines of our human language, whether this extends to hand gestures, to facial expressions, or any other bodily movement. Language is then, in some ways, the antagonist of emotion. Words are powerful, but ultimately insufficient.
This does not mean we should cease communicating; we should in fact enjoy our every communication that much more. It's all we have.
More thoughts later. What are yours?
[one of three drawing rooms in my apartment]
[my landlady's insane bathroom which i'm too afraid to use.]
[the "solarium" as accessed by our bathroom]
[my room.]
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