It's one of those frustrating things, once you can communicate in a language, to have to leave and then return and only realize that you can only utter the same sentances as a 5 year old. That's the frustration I've been feeling the past few weeks here in Mexico. A longing to communicate once again like a human being in spanish, a language which, in my opinion, is so much more expressive and beautiful than englishs. It truly is a poet's language, and it's no wonder that such epic works by writers like Federico Garcia Lorca, Pablo Neruda, Jorge Luis Borges and Gabriel Garcia Marquez cannot be translated without losing a bit of the magic.
And then it happened. The two week click. The point at which one's mind and heart begin, finally, communicating in the same language. No, no, it's not perfect. But it's better than it was. I opened my mouth and spanish came out. I started making jokes, ordering drinks, using sarcasm, irony, metaphor, slang. Yessss finally.
It just so happened to click when I was out with a few friends of mine. I went home that night and the thoughts in my head were racing. In that familiar mixed jumble of spanglish. Honestly, I think that would be my language of choice.
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