Shakespeare once questioned: "What's in a name?". A name, however permanent and solidified it may be in one language, is ironically also arbitrary. It is only until you enter foreign territory, where a name is different, that you realize that all along what you considered so fortified was in fact solely constructed.
Since living in Paris, I have become so aware of language: its use, its meaning, and its connotations. Language builds walls but also barriers. The other day, my professor lectured on the idea that in terms of culture, although one thing can be true, its opposite can also be true in another culture. Therefore, if language is a force to bring people together, it is also the thing that can set us apart.
I have been taking French for nine years, and although I do not consider myself fluent just yet, I would confidently say that I can communicate with other people in this language. However, language barriers still continue to exist. I find myself taking things too literally in conversations, like a child who doesn't understand sarcasm. I find myself searching for specific words in my mind, and then resorting to silence because I could not bring myself to correctly engage in a conversation. It is very hard to learn another language, even if you are immersed within its culture.
This week, I went to the Opéra Garnier with some friends after class. As it was my first time stepping foot in this historic building, I was immediately enamored by the detailing of the architecture, and the delicacy of the artwork. However, what I found most interesting was the actual performance, the ballet of Onéguine. Although the dancers did a phenomenal job, I was the most intrigued by how a whole room of people who undoubtedly spoke all different languages could partake in the cultural experience of the ballet together. We understood the story by watching facial expressions, dramatic gestures, and graceful dance moves. In a few short hours, the language barrier was torn down, and we were all able to share in the drama of the arts together.
Living in France has forever changed my concept of language: I no longer see it as simply a tool for communication, but also as a connection to others and an entire community of people. Speaking a certain language is part of your identity, and your identity shifts once you leave your home base. Sitting in a room filled with hundreds of invisible language barriers can be intimidating, especially when that room is everywhere in a country in which you are living for multiple months. However, if you're lucky you can get the chance to break down all of the walls and finally become one with the locals, just as I did at the Opera Ballet. As things can be found true in their binary opposition, language can be beautiful, but so can the absence of language.