i try to intellectualize this whole affair by writing in a foreign language. it is at this moment in time, when i find myself using words that i had long forgotten, i feel that english is truly a foreign language to me... no matter how good my pronunciation can be, or how fluently or grammatically correct my speech in discourse can be.
and i realize this foreign status exactly because i find myself unable of writing in my own language these thoughts that i've been having. as if for a couple of lost seconds, when i stood into the darkness of my opened-door room after hearing my father tell me that my sister had been in an accident, that it seemed liked she was deceased, and that he would call back to pick me up... as if for those seconds of staring into that darkness, i imagined a scene of her death, and i cried at a suffering that i had never suffered before.
for me, to think in my own tongue evokes the very moments in which i learned those words, a lot from that very sister. sometimes we learned them together.
to write in english for me, at this moment, at this time, is to feel free to select words that are within my vocabulary and that indeed invite a context full of meaning, but there is no attachment. no emotion except for those phrases that all my siblings and i had to learn while living in the states in our youth. but those are few, and gladly they go along with melodies that i still sing along with the joyful memories of our driving together in the family car. each choosing their song, each taking turns, all together. and singing.
Posted by Jojo at October 14, 2007 11:59 PMbien hecho.
i've often wondered about you, when i look at the berkblog table.
i don't wonder anymore; now i like you.
i know it seems too late to say so now: i hope su hermana is ok.
but i do hope.
thank you.