Qui suis-je?
A photo of me standing below Mont Blanc, camped atop a grassy ridge, at sunset, during the month of June, in the French Alps. Thanks to my husband for this rare photo moment of myself - an image I know will mean so much to me further down the line in life, when we inevitably look back on this insane journey that we decided to embark on at the start of our 30’s :)
Eight months have come and gone of studying French, practically full-time. From A1 to new B2. Which makes in total, almost nine months of stumbling through countless conversations, interactions, and encounters both brief and long. Gaining confidence one day, just to lose it all the next. Possibly one of the most humbling experiences one could have, the loss of your own voice. For nine months now we have been going out into our new environment and speaking French - speaking while sick, while exhausted, while unsure if we are even saying the right thing - yet pushing through each time, and doing it anyways. Nine months of fumbling with pronunciation and accents, at many times feeling fully defeated - just to get up the next day and do it all over again. But alas, here I am - still doing it. So for that, I give you today: un poème en français. Because I did not realize before the identity crisis that would occur when you stumble through countless months of desperately trying to find your voice in a foreign language.
Qui suis-je?
Qui suis-je dans une nouvelle langue?
Je n’ai pas encore trouvé ma voix
où mon vocabulaire n’est pas encore complet
et où les blagues ne sont pas les mêmes
il y a tant de moments où je souris et où je dis simplement “oui” au lieu d’exprimer les penses que j’ai dans la tête.
Je n’ai pas encore trouvé ma voix en français
mais, j’espère qu’un jour, je la trouverai.
English translation:
Who am I in a new language?
My voice, not yet found
where the vocabulary is not yet complete
and the jokes are not the same
with many moments where I smile and simply say “oui” instead of explaining the thoughts in my head.
My voice in French, I have not yet found
but I hope I will, one day.
I have found that writing poems and short songs has become one of the best methods for me to learn French in a way that actually makes sense to my brain. My understanding of the many nuances of the language have become much more clear through these self-assigned artistic practices as I have wrangled (quite restlessly) with the way in which French sentences are structured - it just does not compute for my brain as I continue to struggle immensely to express myself. But eight months in, and three weeks now remaining at our language school. Learning French is not for passion or for fun, it is for survival, and onward we roll.
Thanks for reading along & bon week-end à tous!
