Words, words, words.
On writing them.
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I started my German language class this week. Every day for three hours I sit in a room with a handful of other people (from all over the world, it’s worth mentioning) and together we struggle through the grammar rules of a new and often confusing tongue. Side note: if you are at all familiar with the German language, you may be of the opinion that some words are quite difficult to pronounce, I’m sure you won’t be alone in this belief. German grammar and syntax, I have found, is infinitely more complicated. There are more than a dozen ways to say ‘the’. It’s been quite some time since I last sat in a classroom, and learning alongside others again is taking some to get used to. I hope my classmates don’t find me totally insufferable. I wouldn’t blame them; I tend to move through the exercises too quickly, raise my hand too often and though I try very, very hard not interrupt other students or my teacher when I believe I know the correct answer, I am only partially successful. I can console myself, at least, that I have yet to remind our teacher to assign us our homework. I’ll save that for my second week of school.
I had a very similar academic tendency in university. Though I sat towards the back of a mostly full lecture hall, my participation suggested that my class consisted only of my lecturer and me. Not only am I an opinionated student (perhaps opinionated person is a more suitable description) and eager to please, it triggers something inside of me when a teacher or professor asks a question to a blank eyed, languid faced group of students, only to be met by silence. Everything within me screams to answer, engage, discuss, debate, enquire. The poor lecturer is just looking for a little engagement! While the other students ponder whether to answer or not, I am constantly biting my tongue, trying to remind myself that it isn’t my job to fill every silent moment with jibber jabber. In truth, this is something I’ve always struggled with. My report cards all throughout school conveyed something along the lines of Jeremy works well in class, but he never really stops speaking…
It’s funny to think that I still retain an aspect of my childhood self. At some point, I outgrew wetting the bed and crying when I hurt myself. I also aged out of certain behaviours—I like to believe that I am an adult capable of participating in a considerate, mutually enjoyable conversation, in which both parties exchange thoughts and ideas. As a talkative, ever opinionated, highly extroverted only child, my parents spent a great deal of time explaining to me that I needed to allow other people to talk, too. I remember often sitting in the back of my mom’s car as a preteen; as we drove away from a dinner with friends or family I would enquire with my parents whether my conversational skills were improving or not. I got mixed reviews (rightly so). Sadly, I am less excited by superhero movies and LEGO, if only marginally. These are all markers of growing up. I am yet to age out of my academic eagerness and my seemingly endless enthusiasm for talking.
I suppose a part of why I created this journal is to share my words. They pour out of me, and I try to collect some of the good ones. Since I moved to Berlin (which was about two months ago, if you haven’t been following along), finding the time to put those words to paper, as it were, has become increasingly difficult. At first I had to adapt to leaving my home, both place and people. I then added a new job, host family and residence to the picture. Luckily I still had a fair amount of time to myself, though much of it was used to create a new home here—explore my new city, discover the highlights in my neighbourhood, nest in my room. Since my German course has begun, my personal time has all but disappeared. It’s important to me that I still make time for these few words. Somehow I feel as though they are leading me somewhere. I hope to connect with you as you read this, that some part of my endless babbling is valuable to you. Of my writing aspirations, some of which I will keep private for the moment, I think the most vital is that I simply continue to write. I very seriously considered not publishing a journal this week. It felt like I just didn’t have the time. I wanted to give up on it, to dismiss it as something unworthy of my limited attention. In the busy, often exhausting throws of my long work week, I try to remind myself that I have decided, time and again, that writing is something worth spending my time on. Perhaps there is something in your life that you feel similarly about. I encourage you to spend your time on it, even when it feels like you can’t. I wrote this journal on my various bus and U-Bahn trips the day before it was published. Time well spent.
My new room, and the desk I (usually) write at.
It’s also been quite a shock getting homework again. If you enjoyed this journal, please send it to someone you love.