There’s something inevitable about ruminating on language while abroad. Of course I’m writing about the troubles of mitigating it, about how the French’s unimpressed stare as you blubber out a question at the grocery store makes you want to dissolve into a puddle of mush, blah blah-blah blah-blah.
For many Americans, language barriers while studying abroad are only a temporary inconvenience.
“It’s so annoying that they don’t speak any English, but it’s fine,” an American will say. “I’ll be back in Huntington Beach by May.”
You should not be eager to return to Huntington Beach.
Sentiments about the futility of learning French, of immersing yourself fully into a different culture, feel disrespectful and trite.
The reason many Americans shirk off learning another language while studying abroad is because they have never been a foreigner; they are used to being the apex predators of the world.
For those of us who have had the unmooring experience of immigration or growing up outside of the United States, it’s nothing new. The challenges of speaking in a foreign language or of having trouble expressing yourself fully and understanding others are business as usual.
This is all to say that I’ve been struggling with language acquisition and barriers myself this semester. I thought that since I had once demonstrated a keen ability to pick up a language quickly (English) and assimilate into a different culture (America), France would be no different.
I’m starting to look more and more like a one-hit wonder.
I find myself staying in the United States when I enter my bedroom: only watching English-language movies and television, thinking in English, lurking on Twitter (I refuse to call it “X”) and laughing at clever new slang.
Meanwhile, I struggle to speak with my host family, often reverting to English when I begin choking in the middle of a sentence. How do I explain the concept of “granola” to middle-aged French people?
The resistance comes from a place of trauma from my past: If I’m going to speak a new language, I better be fluent or I’m not saying a word.
“The reason many Americans shirk off learning another language while studying abroad is because they have never been a foreigner; they are used to being the apex predators of the world.”
This is an entirely wrong approach. I admire those around me who speak French with slurry American accents, confusing their tenses and conjugating incorrectly. The only way to learn is to practice and make mistakes.
I’ve also been in situations with people who speak English as a second language. Sitting around a busy table surrounded by chatter amid opened bottles of wine, I was talking to a Swedish girl about capitalism and Marxism. Although there would be minor miscommunications along the way and I needed to slow my tempo, I found myself delighting in the shared effort we made to understand one another.
Speaking a different language requires camaraderie and effort from both parties. It also demonstrates the essence of human connection: attempting to externalize your innermost thoughts and feelings to relate to another person.
Celine Song’s film “Past Lives” keenly demonstrates the way language helps us further human connections. Centering Korean Canadian-American playwright Nora who married an American, the story explores the nuances of identity — how different facets of one’s identity can be masked by the language wall.
In a scene between Nora and her husband Arthur, Arthur explains why he tries so hard to learn Korean: “You talk in English, you only dream in Korean,” he says. “You dream in a language that I can’t understand. It’s like there’s this whole place inside of you where I can’t go.”
To me, this seems the ultimate expression of love — the effort to truly connect with a person through their native language, even if it means putting yourself in a vulnerable position.
If we really want to connect with those in a different culture, to truly understand how it is for those living outside of the American hegemony, our first step is to make an effort to learn their language.
Language is the way we make a solitary existence communal, finding ways to connect with those around us. Without it, there would be no way to bridge the vast ocean between our separate bodies.
After all, what’s more beautiful than sharing the intimate contents of your mind with another person?
Tania Azhang PZ ’25 is a study abroad columnist currently in France.
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