I started learning Spanish seriously in August 2017. I had been assiduously Duolingo-ing up until that point, and after hours and hours of it, this was the extent of my spoken ability:
As mentioned in yesterday's post, I'm in Bratislava this weekend to visit some friends. Last year, based on a resolution I've had for a long time, I started learning Czech. I've always felt a connection to Slavic cultures and people, but in particular to Czechia and Slovakia. Of course, they're not one and the same … Continue reading Czech/Slovak won’t leave me alone!
After graduating from uni, I spent about a year and a half after uni pursuing writing projects, with the naïve goal of becoming a full-time romance writer within a short span of time. As you can imagine, this didn't quite work out, and I eventually decided that, for the short term, I needed a day job.
Acabo (al momento de escribir) de visitar una amiga española. Charlamos casi todo el tiempo en español, y aunque la entendí por gran parte, yo no pude hablar muy largo. Y después de dos horas juntas, sentía que mi energía había sido extraido, y apenas pude decir ni entender ni una palabra de castellano.
‘Parlay petty fronsay,’ said my colleague, as he jocularly replied to the French teacher at our school upon exiting the staff room. No sooner had the door swung shut than one of the teachers roared, ‘He's butchering the language!’ Of course, this was a joke. But there's something about that phrase that aggravates me. The idea that language is some kind of sacred cow, some unassailable bastion of purity that must not be sullied by the butcher's knives of the linguistic proletariat.