Learning a language is easy. Until one day it’s not.

by Samantha Fletcher (United Kingdom (Great Britain))

Making a local connection France

Learning a language is easy. Until one day it’s not. I found myself struggling for words. A knot forming in the pit of my stomach as a middle-aged man looked at me with narrowing eyes. These words flowed from my lips when sat in the pleasant surroundings of the Great British Library post work. Yet, when approached by a French man on a cloudless Wednesday afternoon they became the unknown. “Quelle heure est-il?” he queried. “Quinze heures,” I finally responded. Three seconds had passed. My thoughts had flickered multiple times between a delicate onlooker, watching me think despite an apparent answer and the pronunciation. My cheeks flushed a red tinge from embarrassment to shame that I hadn’t the confidence to part words in a shorter space of time. I’d come to realise that simple sentences can cause a tidal wave of emotions behind a person’s eyes. A thousand small questions and queries that often remain after a simple exchange of words. Why can’t I understand? Does he think I’m slow-witted? My fourteen months of private French classes had evidently worn thin. However, the man thanked me and continued to amble down the platform towards train 7082. I’d convinced myself a year in France was a superb idea. A fantastic opportunity. What’s more, the majority of my English friends and family believed me to be fluent and dreamt of the romantic Parisian lifestyle I was yet to experience. In reality, these one-sentence exchanges continued as the days, then weeks passed by. I became low-spirited as my personality was hidden from those around me. I knew I would have to make the first move to share moments of my life. Maybe that would be my advice to others who wish to immerse themselves in a culture and language different from their own. Make the first move, be brave. It’s tiresome. It made me feel vulnerable. Frequently people would revert to English allowing me to take the easy way out. I would feel ashamed, why should I expect a French person to speak English in France? Others would laugh. Most would simply try to understand. An interaction that more often than not became awkward for both parties. Yet, under no circumstances did the man on platform seven wish for me to feel uncomfortable in his presence. Then on a rare occasion, I would part with a smile. Not a courteous smile but a sign of accomplishment beaming from within. Next words would form a conversation, perhaps laughter and in turn a personal connection. Often brought on by a sense of belonging when a stranger demonstrates empathy, patience, and compassion for my hesitant tone and muddled French.