December 3, 2012 by anelim
I really have to keep consciously labelling everything I hear as either “German” and “French” in that French class. I actually do that. I try not to move my lips when I do that. Internal conversation and reflexivity much? A sentence or two passes between the moment when the teacher has switched into German (or back into French) and my realising that this has happened. Maybe it is because I’m preoccupied with translating the words into a comprehensible language in my head?
On my notes, today I translated the new French words into four different languages, two cyrillic and two latin. Oasis sang about a revolution in my bed, and I wish that were the case – instead I have a revolution in my head. Now it is no longer a head made up of several neat sock drawers. Rather, it is a communal apartment which has been divided over the issue of where one can dry one’s clothes or who is supposed to wash the soup bowls after lunch on Tuesdays. Now my head is inhabited by two militant camps: the established long-time inhabitants, the Languages I Know, who have learned to tolerate each other and even formed tentative friendships and one or two clandestine love stories (an old, prim and proper Russian, a middle-aged peppery Bulgarian, and a young outspoken English mob) against the Camp of the New Rhotic Intruders (two annoying twins, French and German, Max et/und Moritz). Wish me luck!