Language Soup

To my right, everyone is speaking Chinese.  I eavesdrop unashamedly- when you can only pick out a few words, that's not really even eavesdropping, right?  It's language study.  At least, that's what our group of beginning language learners decided on the train the other week.

The six of us are deep in conversation when the man with the suitcase approaches.  He leans in and asks a question of the man by the window.  The word "Flughafen" (airport) drifts into our consciousness.   A sudden silence descends.  Heads pivot toward the man asking a question, as those across the aisle shift slightly.  We all listen intently.   The spell broken as he walks off, there's some embarrassed laughter.  Random stranger on the bus to Munich- I promise we weren't prying into your personal life.  We were just excited that we understood the word airport and hoping to catch some more juicy details.  You know, like numbers.  We understand those too.


But anyways, back to Chinese.  The Chinese speakers happen to be in my German class.  I sit surrounded by them.  That Chinese that I studied 7 years ago (wait, it can't possibly be that long ago already, can it?) is being stirred up, moved a little closer to the top from where it was buried under Finnish.  Two weeks into class now, I'm emboldened.  I try out random phrases now and then on my classmates- "Is this yours?"  "I don't know." Their delighted response to my rusty Chinese is all the encouragement I need to try another phrase the next day.

A little farther to my left in class, there's a group of 3 from Spain.  I'm writing down the meanings of my German vocabulary words as the teacher is checking homework.  Her response to a question from the Spanish speakers floats over to me.  She's speaking Spanish too.  My mind subconsciously slips into Spanish mode.  When I look at my vocabulary list, I realize I've just translated a word from German into Spanish instead of English.

Finnish however. . .  My brain feels like soup.  All the different languages are mixed up and the words are floating around, lost in there somewhere.  Some of them are easier to find.  The ones I hear and use everyday, they stay floating at the top.  But Finnish- all that vocabulary is stuck on the bottom.  I try to form a simple sentence.  I know the words are there somewhere.  But somehow, I can't seem to find them.  I mentally practice the days of the week, just to keep them fresh in my mind.  Maanantai, tiistai, keskiviikko, wait, what's Thursday? perjantai, lauantai, sunnuntai.  It bugs me for a whole day.  I can't remember Thursday.  Someone finally looks it up for me on their smart phone. Torstai.  Really?  I remember lauantai and keskiviikko, but the one that sounds MOST like it's English equivalent escapes me?

It's a strange experience for me, this language soup I'm in.  But I think, despite my confusion and occasional mental fatigue from a brain that's trying to process any language it can get its hands on, I like it.  

So you want to be a teacher?

There's the regular chit-chat: where I'm from, how long I've been here, what I'm studying.  Then I cringe, knowing the question that inevitably follows, "so you want to be a teacher?"

Coming from the US, where almost everyone who is a teacher starts teaching with a Bachelors, and then, if they continue with their Masters, work on it after already gaining some classroom experience, I wasn't expecting that question at first.  I was expecting the professional atmosphere, of colleagues sharing  their experiences, that I had during my grad classes for my ESL certification in the states and I expected those around me to have the same expectation of a Masters level program in education.  

But here, things are different.  In Finland, you can't teach without a Master's degree, and in Germany it seems to be similar, so people assume since I'm working on my Master's degree in education that I want to be a teacher.

"So, you want to be a teacher?" It's a question that makes me feel threatened. The past 9 years of my life, discredited with one blow.  Do I really seem so young, so inexperienced, so unprofessional, that I'm automatically mistaken for a student who's never had a career?

And I know it's never meant to make me feel uncomfortable.  After all, they're just strangers, making small talk.  It's the logical next question for them.

But just once, it would be nice for someone to simply say, "and what do you plan to do once you graduate?" or "what made you decide to do your masters in education?" 

Then I could tell my story in my own words.  

"I love teaching.  But I got a taste of administration when I was the academic director at a school in Colombia, and I really want to continue my professional development so I can be more effective in a leadership role. I'd love to work with a non-profit focused on family literacy when I graduate."

(Of course, now that I've thought out how to say it, I can use that same response to, "so you want to be a teacher?" too.  Perfect.  Here's to me feeling less uncomfortable the next time I'm asked that question.)

This Beautiful Adventure

I'm so happy to see Anna's smiling face at the airport, that I almost re-enact the scene from Spanglish when Flor runs into the sliding glass door.  Her words as she greets us, "I did manage to get a car after all" make 2 travelers, overladen with bags, more than happy.  She hands us "Welcome to Germany" snack bags she made for us, anticipating we'd be hungry after our long day of travel.  When I see a soft pretzel inside, I'm sure of it, I've come to the right place.

After a 2 hour drive from Munich,  the thought on our minds as we open the door to our rooms is "I wonder if we won the lottery, or we lost it?" 1 person apartment, 2 person apartment, or dorm room with shared bathroom and kitchen facilities for 10?  Those are the possibilities in this building.  As the door swings open I glance quickly around: bed, bookshelf, desk, wardrobe, and YES! another door next to the wardrobe.  I think I've won the lottery.  The 2nd door leads to a tiny little kitchen with a bathroom off of it, and a 2nd bedroom on the other side, and I'm lucky enough that Liza, one of my classmates, got the key to it.

The next day, as we hurry from one errand to the next, we can't help but stop and admire.  From one bank of the Danube river, the cathedral and houses reflect into the water below.  The perfect blue sky is such a relief after nearly a month of grey skies in Turku.  I stop in delight- there are snowdrops and crocuses growing in a garden.  Not only have we arrived in a fairy tale, we've arrived here in spring.

Today, orientation over, I head off to try and open a bank account.  I'm not successful in the attempt (the bank closes at 12:30 on Wednesdays. . .), but I do manage to find the German equivalent of a dollar store (a euro store).  Nothing is cheap in Finland, so finding rolls of tape in a 5 pack for a euro, and notebooks for .55 here made me excited.  Now I know where to go if I need toothpicks or batteries or random party supplies.  On my way back, a double church steeple catches my eye.  I make a detour, hoping for a closer view, delighted at such a pretty church, right here in my neighborhood.

I'm here, starting a new adventure, studying a new map, meeting new people, stumbling through words in a new language.  It's lovely and challenging, and exhausting and thrilling.