Ok Mum, maybe you were right: languages matter. Foreign languages
matter.
Nowadays we should speak two idioms more than our own, in order not to
be exceptional, but just “normal” in this globalized world.
But Mum, you know, I don't like English so much… and it's your
fault, actually… if you had been a Science teacher, there would be
no problem by now. But you teach English, so… you can't insist on your
subject becoming my favourite one. It's
not in the nature of things. But, as you can see, I'm making a great
effort to write all this in your beloved English.
And, in facts, I haven't understood
yet perfectly which
nouns are countable or uncountable… and sometimes I'm not sure
about using the Present perfect or the Past simple… and I often
forget the “S” after he/she/it…
But Mum, you taught me that the most
important issue in language is COMMUNICATION and not grammar… or
better, grammar is important, but the others can forgive you, if you
make some mistakes… at the opposite they can't forgive you if you
don't speak with them, if you refuse to communicate and remain in
your little and safe “native-speaker world”.
Finally, I had to learn French two
years ago in a decent way to appreciate the power of the languages.
Now Mum, I see this magic: I can
speak with people that are not Italian… but it's not just speaking
(What's your name? How old are you? The cat is on the
table!), it's a real
communication (from the latin comunio:
stay together, put something in common… yes, latin still remains my
favourite language)… indeed, it's a meeting of souls.
Most of all, if I share with someone
not just one language, but two or even three… there's no wall any
more! Maybe a few obstacles resist, but they are easier to overtake.
Of course, I won't never speak as many as you do, but I
think you could be proud of me.
And you know Mum, what I love the
most? Hearing people's voices in their own language. Yes, because
all of us change our voice speaking in an other idiom! But I think
that our souls still speak the language with which we were born, our
family's language.
I don't know exactly how to explain
it… but it seems to me that I can get to know people better. More
or less, the same thing happens when you manage to read a novel or a poem in its original language: it sounds so
different, deeper, so charming… in a word: better.
It hasn't been so easy, Mum (or
wasn't??? Boh!!!): I'm usually a bit ashamed of speaking in an other
language: I'm afraid of not being understood, I dread seeming like an idiot,
since I can't find the exact word that fits in the conversation, I'm
afraid not to be able to express what I'd like to… and this is
quite hard, quite frustrating, to have an universe inside and can't
show it by words… or just an answer, or a joke…
However, Mum, don't worry: Spanish
people are quite tolerant about language, they don't insult you if
you get wrong with some words… or if you try to talk with them,
speaking Itagnol.
So, ultimately, maybe… yes… once
in a life you were right: languages matter.
P.s.
Dad, don't worry: I keep
thinking
Italian is the most beautiful language in the world.
Oh, Grandma and Grandpa, you too…
be sure, when I come back, I'll still understand you speaking
BRESCIAN dialect!
