Follow the Nostalgic Smile
This morning I met with the chairperson of the linguistics department at a local university. I wanted to find out if their program was right for me, and perhaps more importantly, if I was right for their program. I honestly didn't know what to expect. So I set out from Miami Beach, with optimism in the passenger seat of my tiny egg-shaped hatchback, past downtown Miami and west along the Tamiami Trail to the main campus of FIU and my meeting with Dr. Feryal Yavas.
The dense air moistened my skin as I hoofed it from the parking garage to the Deuxieme Maison, where the linguistics program is housed. How fitting, I thought, that the buildings were given foreign words as names (and not just Spanish ones, as I've come to expect as the rule in Miami). I asked directions from a guy taking cover under the awning of the student union during a quick but torrential downpour. "Oh, you mean DM," he said, motioning for me to follow him as the shower turned to sprinkles and the sidewalk became covered in tiny rainbows. "I'm heading there, too."
At first I was reluctant. I hate to follow. But within moments, I knew it was a good idea. We walked more or less in silence through a network of covered walkways to avoid the rain, which in just five minutes came in as many intensities. I'd have been drenched without him. Then we took a "short cut" through Primera Casa, or PC, emerging seconds later smack dab in front of the grand DM. The cement structure was just four stories tall, painted drab grey and centered round a tropical courtyard. My temporary guide and I hopped into a waiting elevator and he almost slipped out of his wet flip flops before catching himself on a woman who must not have been shown the covered passages--she was soaking wet, cerulean blue makeup streaking her plump cheeks as she lifted damp hair back into a ponytail to ring out the excess dew. They both got off on the third floor, and I continued on to the fourth, anxious but intent on meeting my fate.
My shoes were squeaking, which bugged me and tweeked my mounting anxiety. I wasn't so much nervous she wouldn't like me; I'm usually good with first impressions. And it wasn't that I thought she'd outwit me; though I may lack some technical knowledge in linguistics I can usually wow 'em with pure language. It was that I've been twisting my guts up for the past few years trying to decide what course of action to take next in my life--and from what friends have told me, picking the right program is essential for happiness and success. So now that I'm ready to make a commitment it would just suck, I thought, if this option would turn out less than optimal.
In my social sphere, I'm pretty much the only one obsessed with studying languages. I have friends who majored in Spanish in college, and I know a slew of folks who are currently in the process of acquiring or teaching a second language. But they, the teachers as well as the students, somehow seem to focus exclusively on the mechanics of language. I get the mechanics, too, but what I'm practically blinded by is the magic of language. So as I stepped into Dr. Yavas' office I was hoping to find a woman who wasn't so involved and experienced in the study of languages that she was no longer mystified--or at the very least, someone who would appreciate my more down-to-earth perspective.
When I arrived, Dr. Yavas was there in the waiting area of the department speaking in hushed tones to one of the secretaries. I didn't know it was her at first, but when I presented myself she turned toward me with a nod, asking that I wait a moment for her to finish up and she'd be right with me. I went to sit in the corridor, and read a newspaper clip about a student who'd done research on bilingualism while at this same institution a few years back. Her focus was apparently comparing the Spanish/English bilingualism of South Florida and the Welsh/English bilingualism of some town across the pond. It looked interesting, but I couldn't really focus on it. My mind was already inside that room.
When I was finally called for my meeting--it was really just moments later--it dawned on me that I hadn't figured out Dr. Yavas's country of origin based on her name, nor could I now say where she was from based on her accent, although I could tell it wasn't native to the United States. All I could think was "ya vas" could mean "you're already going" in Spanish, but I'd never heard it used as a surname. She was a diminutive middle-aged woman with a polite demeanor, and she led me to her office with a smile. As I sat in front of her desk, she said with a sigh, "Well...".
I took my cue and started telling her why I was interested in the linguistics program at FIU, although I really wanted to quiz her, find out if she was still in love with language after having spent so much time in academia. But it was my turn to talk, to be judged. She sat patiently in front of me, framed by a huge plate glass window, which was dotted with beads of moisture and revealed the brightest blue sky, full of fluffed grey and white clouds, the broken-up leftovers of that passing storm. I was slightly distracted by the scene, but regained focus, and a delightful conversation ensued, encompassing a variety of language-related topics, the most relevant one to her being why I was interested in their program.
This is a complicated subject, to be sure, but I was going to try to be succinct. I started to explain that I am interested in studying what factors led to greater or lesser success in adults learning a second language. In particular, I told her, I want to study languages that are present in the New World, you know, the post-Colonial remnant. I told her I am fascinated by language mixing, especially Spanglish, which is the U.S.-driven dialectical mixture of Spanish and English, and also Portanhol, which is a mixture of Portuguese and Spanish found on the border of Uruguay and Brazil and also in metro New Jersey and the Jersey Shore.
Truth be told, these and many other reasons simply describe why I want to study in general. But I didn't know exactly why I would be interested in their program until Dr. Yavas started to reveal a little bit about herself. She told me she has lived as an immigrant not just in this country but also in Brazil. She said she is Turkish and that she lived in the south of Brazil, in Porto Alegre, for ten years, where she bore a "Brazilian" son. Because of this--Porto Alegre is nearish to the Uruguayan border--she had some insight into Portanhol, and could relate more concretely to my interests. She also seemed slightly impressed that I was interested in studying Turkish, and that with her guidance I would be interested in studying Turkish second-language learners in the United States and Brazil in order to draw comparisons on each groups's acquisition experiences with two different target languages given their common language-of-origin.
Time was running out, though, and she thanked me for coming in before we'd had a chance to draw any conclusions about my visit. She encouraged me to get my application in right away, and led me out of her office and into the lobby. I then thanked her in my unpolished Turkish. "So where did you learn your Turkish?" she asked. To this I just gave a quick answer that was only partly true. "I listen to the music." We threw around a couple of names we both knew, she smiled a nostalgic smile, and I left.
As I walked away, I continued to struggle with my answers. There was so much more to talk about, so much more to the story. But as I stood there on the fourth floor balcony, leaning over the concrete-slab guard rail to help regain my balance as my head went spinning, I was ultimately left with some comfort. It just felt right. I may not know exactly the whats and the why fors of my interest in language, or of my desire to pursue graduate studies in linguistics, but at that moment I was reminded of exactly why I love learning languages. There is such comfort revealed in the nostalgic smile of an immigrant stranger. And by speaking a stranger's language, and by knowing, even superficially, the culture of one who has traveled so far and left so much behind, I am somehow connected to my own family's immigrant past, a hundred years, thousands of miles and a million memories ago.
The dense air moistened my skin as I hoofed it from the parking garage to the Deuxieme Maison, where the linguistics program is housed. How fitting, I thought, that the buildings were given foreign words as names (and not just Spanish ones, as I've come to expect as the rule in Miami). I asked directions from a guy taking cover under the awning of the student union during a quick but torrential downpour. "Oh, you mean DM," he said, motioning for me to follow him as the shower turned to sprinkles and the sidewalk became covered in tiny rainbows. "I'm heading there, too."
At first I was reluctant. I hate to follow. But within moments, I knew it was a good idea. We walked more or less in silence through a network of covered walkways to avoid the rain, which in just five minutes came in as many intensities. I'd have been drenched without him. Then we took a "short cut" through Primera Casa, or PC, emerging seconds later smack dab in front of the grand DM. The cement structure was just four stories tall, painted drab grey and centered round a tropical courtyard. My temporary guide and I hopped into a waiting elevator and he almost slipped out of his wet flip flops before catching himself on a woman who must not have been shown the covered passages--she was soaking wet, cerulean blue makeup streaking her plump cheeks as she lifted damp hair back into a ponytail to ring out the excess dew. They both got off on the third floor, and I continued on to the fourth, anxious but intent on meeting my fate.
My shoes were squeaking, which bugged me and tweeked my mounting anxiety. I wasn't so much nervous she wouldn't like me; I'm usually good with first impressions. And it wasn't that I thought she'd outwit me; though I may lack some technical knowledge in linguistics I can usually wow 'em with pure language. It was that I've been twisting my guts up for the past few years trying to decide what course of action to take next in my life--and from what friends have told me, picking the right program is essential for happiness and success. So now that I'm ready to make a commitment it would just suck, I thought, if this option would turn out less than optimal.
In my social sphere, I'm pretty much the only one obsessed with studying languages. I have friends who majored in Spanish in college, and I know a slew of folks who are currently in the process of acquiring or teaching a second language. But they, the teachers as well as the students, somehow seem to focus exclusively on the mechanics of language. I get the mechanics, too, but what I'm practically blinded by is the magic of language. So as I stepped into Dr. Yavas' office I was hoping to find a woman who wasn't so involved and experienced in the study of languages that she was no longer mystified--or at the very least, someone who would appreciate my more down-to-earth perspective.
When I arrived, Dr. Yavas was there in the waiting area of the department speaking in hushed tones to one of the secretaries. I didn't know it was her at first, but when I presented myself she turned toward me with a nod, asking that I wait a moment for her to finish up and she'd be right with me. I went to sit in the corridor, and read a newspaper clip about a student who'd done research on bilingualism while at this same institution a few years back. Her focus was apparently comparing the Spanish/English bilingualism of South Florida and the Welsh/English bilingualism of some town across the pond. It looked interesting, but I couldn't really focus on it. My mind was already inside that room.
When I was finally called for my meeting--it was really just moments later--it dawned on me that I hadn't figured out Dr. Yavas's country of origin based on her name, nor could I now say where she was from based on her accent, although I could tell it wasn't native to the United States. All I could think was "ya vas" could mean "you're already going" in Spanish, but I'd never heard it used as a surname. She was a diminutive middle-aged woman with a polite demeanor, and she led me to her office with a smile. As I sat in front of her desk, she said with a sigh, "Well...".
I took my cue and started telling her why I was interested in the linguistics program at FIU, although I really wanted to quiz her, find out if she was still in love with language after having spent so much time in academia. But it was my turn to talk, to be judged. She sat patiently in front of me, framed by a huge plate glass window, which was dotted with beads of moisture and revealed the brightest blue sky, full of fluffed grey and white clouds, the broken-up leftovers of that passing storm. I was slightly distracted by the scene, but regained focus, and a delightful conversation ensued, encompassing a variety of language-related topics, the most relevant one to her being why I was interested in their program.
This is a complicated subject, to be sure, but I was going to try to be succinct. I started to explain that I am interested in studying what factors led to greater or lesser success in adults learning a second language. In particular, I told her, I want to study languages that are present in the New World, you know, the post-Colonial remnant. I told her I am fascinated by language mixing, especially Spanglish, which is the U.S.-driven dialectical mixture of Spanish and English, and also Portanhol, which is a mixture of Portuguese and Spanish found on the border of Uruguay and Brazil and also in metro New Jersey and the Jersey Shore.
Truth be told, these and many other reasons simply describe why I want to study in general. But I didn't know exactly why I would be interested in their program until Dr. Yavas started to reveal a little bit about herself. She told me she has lived as an immigrant not just in this country but also in Brazil. She said she is Turkish and that she lived in the south of Brazil, in Porto Alegre, for ten years, where she bore a "Brazilian" son. Because of this--Porto Alegre is nearish to the Uruguayan border--she had some insight into Portanhol, and could relate more concretely to my interests. She also seemed slightly impressed that I was interested in studying Turkish, and that with her guidance I would be interested in studying Turkish second-language learners in the United States and Brazil in order to draw comparisons on each groups's acquisition experiences with two different target languages given their common language-of-origin.
Time was running out, though, and she thanked me for coming in before we'd had a chance to draw any conclusions about my visit. She encouraged me to get my application in right away, and led me out of her office and into the lobby. I then thanked her in my unpolished Turkish. "So where did you learn your Turkish?" she asked. To this I just gave a quick answer that was only partly true. "I listen to the music." We threw around a couple of names we both knew, she smiled a nostalgic smile, and I left.
As I walked away, I continued to struggle with my answers. There was so much more to talk about, so much more to the story. But as I stood there on the fourth floor balcony, leaning over the concrete-slab guard rail to help regain my balance as my head went spinning, I was ultimately left with some comfort. It just felt right. I may not know exactly the whats and the why fors of my interest in language, or of my desire to pursue graduate studies in linguistics, but at that moment I was reminded of exactly why I love learning languages. There is such comfort revealed in the nostalgic smile of an immigrant stranger. And by speaking a stranger's language, and by knowing, even superficially, the culture of one who has traveled so far and left so much behind, I am somehow connected to my own family's immigrant past, a hundred years, thousands of miles and a million memories ago.
Comments