Language Barriers

8.11.22 

Years ago, while still living in the United States, where most citizens speak my native English, I conducted an experiment with myself to see if I could walk through an entire day without speaking a single word.  I was feeling incredibly lonely and disconnected at the time, and I had been recognizing a sad and terrible trend in the minutia of life; that we all move through life with zombie-like repetition and complacency.  To an extent that we need no actual words to accomplish our daily necessities.  To an extent that we largely exchange zero niceties while plowing through buying our groceries or gas, performing our work, retrieving children from school, or wherever else our lives drive us on a regular basis.  An entire day, I existed on mute, presenting card to pay, nodding a cursory acknowledgment only when spoken to, those voices usually void of emotion and faces already turned away before my acknowledgement could be acknowledged.

My experiment succeeded, though I’m not sure that’s worthy of even a little bit of laud.  It was a sad day that served only to reinforce my theory, that we are hopelessly disconnected, to the degree we can’t even recognize how very disconnected we all are.

That was years ago, in my own country and language of origin.  Today I conducted an opposite experiment.  It wasn’t really an experiment, per se.  I simply exist in countries where I do not speak the local language now.  So while I do an inordinate amount of pointing and gesturing by necessity, I do not willfully remain mute.  And I find most of the people I am “speaking” with also do not remain mute.  We both speak, knowing we cannot possibly understand what the other is saying.  But there is a curious grace in the communication.  A word or words spoken with inflection, a point or gesture to clarify, a lightening of drawn facial features when understanding is achieved.  

When I first began traveling, years ago, for work, I promised myself I would never enter a country without knowing, at the very least, how to say “hello” and “thank you” in the native tongue and that I would learn as many words as possible while visiting.  I still stand by and adhere to this practice, but I’ll admit to getting myself into trouble on multiple occasions in many humorous ways.  

In Taiwan, one of my very first ventures, I spent an embarrassing amount of time in my hotel room practicing “good morning” in Chinese before heading down to the breakfast room.  Feeling less than confident, I, nevertheless, tried it out on the Asian woman next to me in the elevator, only to have her look at me like I was speaking Martian.  I clarified, in English, “I was trying to say ‘good morning.’  Is that not how you say it?”  To which she guffawed, “Honey, I’m Japanese.  I have no idea!”  

Same trip, on the plane ride back to the U.S., I said my practiced Chinese “hello” to my seatmate as I climbed across her to my seat.  Taiwanese grandma immediately adopted me and one-sidedly conversed with me, insistently fed me, even found me at baggage claim in San Francisco to slap my arm and continue an 11-hour conversation of which I understood exactly zero words.

Which leads me to today.  Today I got my eyebrows waxed, got my face threaded, and set an appointment to get my, erm, nether regions waxed tomorrow.  Sorry for the TMI, but it’s absolutely necessary to communicate the tender, delicate nature of today’s transactions, successfully conducted in two different languages.  (And if you’ve never had your face threaded; A, highly recommend and, B, it takes a lot of communication, which, surprisingly, you can do without speaking.)  I also maneuvered myself to a local computer repair shop (closed) and an electronics shop where I successfully navigated the purchase of a new adapter, since my existing adapter seems to be defective (my computer does already think it’s French, so maybe it also thinks it doesn’t need an adapter?), received advice as to when the computer repair shop may be open again, and successfully understood as the cashier and another patron expressed to me that as a single woman traveling alone, I would do well to travel myself another block or two “that way” and to guard my belongings as I did said traveling.

But the point I am painfully attempting to make here is that we suck at communicating.  And language barriers are not the issue.  And we need to be better.  We really, truly do.  Our complacency in the minutia is killing us, folks.  We need to relearn how to say “hello,” “please,” and “thank you” at a minimum.  In every language.  Including, and most importantly, the language we speak with our face and body.  

As the timing of my next touch-down in the United States is debatable, I’m not sure when I can conduct my next experiment on U.S. soil, so, friends, I implore you to conduct my next experiment for me.  Learn “thank you” in literally any language.  Pick one you already know.  Pick one at random.  Pick one you want to learn that elusive someday.  Blindfold yourself and point a finger at a random place on a globe or a map.  Draw names out of a hat.  I do not care how you land on your “thank you” language of choice.  

I’ll throw out a few that I’ve learned in roughly the order that I learned them. 

In Chinese, “Xiexie ni.”  This sounds a lot like “she-she” with a barely audible “nee” at the end.  But be careful here.  I’ve been told there’s an entire poem written in Chinese exploring all of the different intonations and incantations of the sound “xie (she)” in all of its various uses in Chinese, which, I’m told, are many.  Stay safe with this one and basically say “she-she” with a smile and move on.

In Korean, don’t even try this one with Google Translate.  It will lead you astray with all of those English g’s and h’s.  “Kauhm-sauhm-nee-daw.”  Make a move with your mouth like you’re talking over a mouth partially full of food as you say “come-saw” and like you’re drawing up phlegm to spit “hauh” sounds (please don’t spit for real) followed by “nee-daw.”  (And to be fair, there’s a little phlegmy huah to the end of that.  So…K(phlegm)aum-s(phlegm)aum-nee-d(phlegm)augh(phlegm).

In Thai (again, don’t bother with Google), from the locals who repeatedly corrected me, “kauhm-kuuuhm-kauh.”  Like you’re drawing phlegm on all those k’s.  “Calm, coom, yah” but throw your throat into it.

Indian…do not even get me started.  There was the one I attempted to learn on my way to Mumbai (shook-ree-yah), and then there was the one I was taught while actually, physically in India.  Apparently there are several different dialects.  I’ll stick with the one I was taught while touring though someone’s home, up three stories of a tight spiral staircase, while she was cooking and preparing for a relative’s wedding, where she offered me a place to sit on her floor while she brewed tea for me.  Yes.  Really.  This “thank you” is Mahrati, apparently the more recognized of the region, according to my guide and my host.  It sounds like “duhn-dee-whaud.”  I kept thinking of Crocodile Dundee when trying to pronounce it.  “Dundee-whaud.”  

In Slovak, “yak-queem-yem.”  More phlegm.  We Americans need more phlegm when we say things.

In Greek, “eff-ha-ree-stoe.”  There’s kind of a weird throaty thing on the “ha” part.  Google Translate has it as “efcharisto,” which made me go for the English “cha” sound, but that’s not it.  It’s “ha,” but like you are drawing phlegm up with it (just don’t spit it after you’ve drawn it up).

In Italian, “grazie,” which sounds kind of like “grat-see.”  Easy one most everyone knows.

In Croatian, “hvala vam.”  Sounds like “vala vam,” all soft a’s, and there’s a weird tongue-against-teeth thing that happens on the “hv.”  The “vam” at the end is the “you,” so “hvala” is like American “thanks”; the “vam” at the end makes it the more formal “thank you.”

And who doesn’t know the French version, “merci”?  Easy sauce.

So pick one.  Pick one that speaks to you.  Learn some completely arbitrary way to say “thank you” from some completely arbitrary country that you may or may not ever visit.  Learn how to say it, even badly.  Or make one up.  I do not care.

And here is the experiment I ask of you, friends.  Say it.  Say it frequently and with feeling.  Say it when you pick your children up from school.  Say it when you buy your groceries.  Say it when you buy your gas or water or snacks or soda or beer or cigarettes.  Say it one way or say it a new way every day.

The experiment is not so much the saying of the thing.  The experiment is to catch someone’s attention.  And then smile with gratitude.  Say “thank you” with your face and your actions.  Say it in any language, even poorly.  Say it in your own language.  Say it with your own smile.  Show your gratitude in a way that shakes up the norm.  Say it in a way that makes someone in your gravitational pull understand that you. are. grateful.  Feel it for yourself, and feel it for whomever just bagged your groceries or brought your child safely to your car or brought your GrubHub order to your door or flipped the laundry from the washer to the dryer.  Be grateful in every language all the time.

The experiment, friends, is to disprove my proven theory from years ago.  Prove we can communicate.  Prove gratitude is our universal language.  Prove we can shake up the complacency and replace it with gratitude. 

Gratitude, just like a smile, is universal.