Over the course of my life, I have long since discovered that language is a beautiful thing.
In the fourth grade, my “gifted” teacher taught me the valuable skill of writing and the art of playing with words, and I have used every bit of what she taught me ever since. Never mind she hated me (she honestly did, never gave me an “A” in conduct and I was THE quietest child in class), she still set the foundation for what is now my most treasured talent.
Writing is something that comes naturally to me. Not to say I am a great writer or anything of that nature, because by my standards, I’m quite terrible. But I have realized over the years that the way words can flow from me like water from a mountain, it doesn’t work that way for everyone.
Language is so powerful. There is a reason they say words can either make or break a man. It is an often-overlooked fact that verbal abuse has more lasting Psychological effects than physical abuse. Words can pierce even the hardest of shells, and it can harden even the softest of hearts. At times it leaves me wondering whether the childhood lesson of “sticks and stones can break my bones, but words can never hurt me” has any kind of legitimate substance after all.
It’s interesting to me how I have never actually appreciated my native language of English (how I wish my native language was something more interesting) until I began to study a different language (namely, Spanish). While yes, Spanish is far more beautiful in my humble opinion, there are also certain quirks that English has that you miss when forced to express yourself in other languages.
English, although fairly limited, has words that sound quite nice even though they mean simple things. Take the word “serendipity” for example, which is a word that tops many people’s “list of favorite words” or “list of most beautiful English words”. It sounds lovely, but all it means is “a happy accident”. (For the record, I have yet to use the word serendipity in conversation…)
However, the fact remains that I’d rather a guy talk sweet to me in Spanish than in English. But then I wouldn’t quite mind Hindi either, so I suppose it’s an “I’m a hopeless romantic so shut up” kind of thing.
I’m not entirely sure where I was going with this, and I’m not even sure where it ended up.
Point: Language is beautiful. You cannot appreciate your own language until you study others, so go study others. I wish to marry a pious, sweet, Hispanic guy… who knows how to talk sweet in Spanish and doesn’t speak some horrible drawling “Spanglish” in place of actual legitimate Spanish.
Yes well, clearly, I need to get out of Miami.