Most of my days I sit in that hazy smoke of spring rain, cold winds, and fresh earthworm smells, not knowing the words that are being said or the reason for the voices. It is one of the first times I do not have to think about what the sounds mean, the hidden agendas cropping up in the corners of mouths, the disdainful spit of a consonant, the anger or the apathy. The tones are like the ticking of a clock, the flurry of feet on carpet - it is just a part of my new life.
But some days, it just happens. "It" being recognition, understanding, comprehension. Some days I know what is being sad, the meaning of a word, why there is excitement in the trill of a noun. It doesn't all make sense, but I feel like I'm rolling slowly over the edge of a great cliff into a pile, a community, of people that I have only so far been observing.
When I do speak in that timid and tentative German accent that I secretly practice at night, I feel a rush of something right underneath my collarbone - what is it? Is it a desire to learn the language, to immerse myself in the culture because it's new and exciting and I can be anyone who I want to be? Or is it fear, discomfort, insecurity?
I wish I could google this, find out the answers, discover why I was led here, find out who I really am behind the walls that I live, or the people that I know. Am I just a shadow cast by the light of someone else?
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