“¿Cómo estás?” The words sounded so strange rolling off the tongue of a blonde, 12-year-old freckle-face. But, I hastily scribbled the phrase down for my “3x each” spelling homework. I had no idea how to reply, nor any interest in previewing the responses that we would learn the following day. I still could not figure out why there was a “y” sound in bien or what magical power the little squiggly line over “n” had to stop mañana from rhyming with banana. I was in a hurry to read the new Cliquebook or play outside with my baby cousin. All of my daily activities thoughtlessly accomplished in plain “old” English. I never thought that nine years later I would be able to hold a conversation that started with “Hola, cómo estas?” that would last an entire lunch hour, let alone ten minutes. Even more surprising was that I started off my last semester in college aspiring to learn a third language.
I did not really enjoy the first two or three years of learning Spanish, because it was a class that made me feel stupid. I was afraid to open my mouth and answer questions most of the time, because I was not sure the sounds coming out of my mouth would make any sense. This was not a problem I had in English class. Besides, why would I need to learn Spanish if I spoke English well enough? It was my second choice for learning a foreign language anyway. (They had no one to teach French in my high school.)
Gradually, I began to learn the benefits of understanding a second language as my desire to traverse the world became deeper and my imagination became more vivid. The more I learned about and wanted to visit the diverse societies that spoke mostly Spanish, the less I could shake the insecurity that came from slaving over index cards, but feeling like my verbal skills were choppy at best. I aimed to learn to speak Spanish fluently in college, but in the back of my mind I never felt that my talents would be sufficient.
Spanish courses in college were different for me than in high school. In high school, my professors probably spent 25% of class time speaking Spanish, while the other 75% of questions and explanations were given in English. Even native Spanish speakers had no desire to participate or get any joy out of the classes each day. So when I placed in to 200 level Spanish classes in college, and discovered on the first day of my freshman year that, with the exception of explaining the syllabus, only Spanish could be spoken I walked out of the class explaining to my professor why I needed to be bumped down immediately. However, it would not do any good because all Spanish classes were taught using only that language, no matter what level. I decided to stay at that level and just do the best that I could. Although I still felt the insecurity of sounding blatantly like a clueless American tourist, I wound up progressing well enough to higher level classes.
However, the truest and most fulfilling victories came from studying abroad in Spain and focusing solely on using Spanish everyday both in class and in daily life. Learning to how to speak Spanish like the Spaniards and seeing as much of the beauty of Spain and Europe as possible were my only goals. With acute focus I was able to do just like that, and it set me on a path to unforgettable experiences. I was forced to face and question all of my fears, and I effectively got over feeling like an idiot in any language that I learned. I fell in love with the language and all of the people who speak it (well, almost all of them), and opening myself to new worldviews gave me a more positive outlook on life.
I realized that as long as you give it your all and are open to constructive criticism, there is very little people can fault you for, and most just truly appreciate that you are trying to integrate yourself with their society and culture. It did not matter if I told someone I was pregnant (embarazada) when I meant to say embarrassed (embarazosa). Most people just smirked and patiently corrected me and I also realized the importance of being able to let little mistakes go and poke fun at myself.
On Monday I sat through my first class for French 101. My professor, or enseignante, spoke French the entire time and I knew not a single word. But I worked my way through using common sense and critical thinking with a smile on my face. Once again I feel foolish and clueless, but I don’t mind because I know one day I’ll be able to sit at a café in Paris, ask for a chocolate croissant, and compliment the waitress’ shoes, feeling confident in what I have to say. Then I will go back to learning Arabic on Duolingo, while enjoying my croissant.
