Cutting the Lifeline

                As a child I remember being fascinated when my friends with foreign families would speak another language to their parents when I was over for dinner or to hang out. It always seemed that they would revert to their native tongue when the mother or father was scolding their child and didn’t want the American to understand or to embarrass their child. This occurred a lot during a homestay in England where I was with an Indian family for a week. This ability to have a conversation that only some could understand was very enticing as a young person.

                Now that I have been studying Russian for almost 3 years now my appreciation for language and culture goes far beyond a novel ability to speak in encoded messages to other people. And I find that for the first time in my life the language that I have chosen to study is not just a novel thing for me to have, now it have become the life line that has gotten me around this incredible  country on my own at times. The feeling of having that life line cut is not only scary but has been one of the most frustrating things of my entire life, and I am sure there will be more frustrations to come.

                The linguistic breakdown was something that had been unknown to me until I found myself in the midst of it. Literally drowning in confusion and endless file cabinets of vocabulary in my brain suddenly becoming jumbles and blank in the most pertinent of situations. Just last week I could order a coffee with ease and ask for milk and sugar, but now I was there stuttering in front of a short tempered lady trying to figure out how to ask to not have sugar or milk put in my coffee. All those hours of study and all of those exercises flew out the window in an instant. Once it was sorted out I sat down and was red with embarrassment but also steaming with anger and frustration. How come a week ago I was doing just fine but now I can’t even ask for a damn cup of Joe. How come last week I could understand when someone asked if I had a cigarette but now I stand there with a stupid look on my face muttering the  same phrase over and over again in an attempt to buy myself more time to search the blank file cabinets of vocab in my head. The feeling of having a word on the tip of my tongue has become all too familiar.