by Tessel Gast

Sometimes I think about when I was still at sekolah, and was still considered to be good in het Engels. English as a foreign language, that is; an addition, rather than something all-consuming. To be limited to 그냥 one language by the very nature of my degree is to ignore not only an entire layer of the (limited) thoughts that I form, but also my identity, my very mode of expression. Across languages, my humour changes, my level of formality differs, and I have even been told that the pitch of my voice fluctuates. Am I, then, supposed to choose a single persona to commit to?

I sit in my tutorial and think of a way to be en litt more clear, en litt more accurate, or en litt more precise — or, rewritten, to be ちょっと more clear, ちょっと more accurate, or ちょっと more precise. I can never quite grasp what I mean to say, resulting in me referring to various Shakespearean characters as “the comp” and “homeboy over here,” much to the despair of my tutors. It is only after that I am struck with l’esprit de l’escalier, and I know what I should have said når I had the chance. I scribble it down in the margins of my text, sometimes en français, sometimes på dansk eller norsk, usually in het Nederlands, and occasionally 한국어로, simply because it is quicker to write. I wouldn’t recommend asking for my notes — usually, I can’t make much sense of them myself either.

Peut-être I should follow my tutor’s advice; buy some водка and play the “Troilus and Criseyde Drinking Game,” one that she promises will end up with someone at A&E. Let me reflect on how life would be if I were one of Chaucer’s contemporaries, at a time when each language was forming to be its own. ごめん if I have exposed you now, wise tutor.