13th of May, 2011
There was this journey around the world. I am still sorting out the memories and photographs and actually the friends linked to it. Everything changed. Everything feels different. And I don’t really know why, but always when it comes to be very emotional, I start thinking in English. I don’t know why that is. German is my mother tongue. I love to play with words and to create sentences that sound lyrical and artistic like a composition, a painting or a very intimating song.
And there is Spanish, which I fell in love with. It’s like a strong passion that every time arises like jealousy whenever I start to learn something new. Spanish feels smooth to my ears – like a scrape full of feathers and cozy blankets and pillows. It’s so warm and comforting that sometimes it can be like a second skin, shaped onto the curves of my body and where I nestle up to it rather than it’s covering me.
And somehow there is this language which I had to learn in school, I was struggling with and what felt always like such a pressure onto me. I was fighting with it for years. At university our companionship even broke into an insuperable abyss. So it caught me by surprise that at the age of 26 I started to read my first English book by choice on this world trip. Though it was fictional trash that caught my attention, it seduced me – word by word. Spoken language followed, then thoughts. Dreams. My diary. I was refusing Spanish with my entire mind. Successfully. I think there isn’t a word I kept in my brain in Spanish after 2 months in South America. English was covering my body and soul. Maybe it was someone’s fault I felt in love with; who I was silently talking to in my mind day by day, who kept me dreaming in English; who kept me writing into my notebook in English – even after I had returned back to Austria.
Still, there are moments when the only way I can express myself in a proper way is in English. And I ask myself: Why is that? When I am arguing with the expectations of my parents, struggling with “the old world and values”, English suddenly appears in any corner of my soul like it was the most naturally thing of the world. Like a barrier. A shield that is protecting my “new developed self” – that right now is not able to express itself just with the tools of my mother tongue. English is my very personal utopia. It’s a pool of ideas and thoughts that are not done yet. There is a lot of potential, but I don’t have a clue where it will lead me. And I am still surprised where all this vocabulary comes from that I never used before, but somehow it fits into these written lines.
This journey is over. There are pictures and friendships and memories and blog entries. But it’s done. For the most of my relatives it’s like this happened ages ago. For my contemporary job it’s the same. For my parents – well, they wish it was done. But for me it’s not. I changed nearly everything and still – from the outside – it looks neat, safe, and maybe tidy. But on the inside there is something brewing. There is this utopia of my new self, of the world I’d like to create. And English seems to be my connection to it. Whenever I get upset with the current situation, English words are popping up in my mind. Funny, isn’t it?