Learning a language and delving deep into the exploration of another culture is one of the most important things any one person can do in their life. To get outside of one’s comfort zone, literally and psychologically, works wonders towards instilling a sense of humility, empathy and understanding toward the plights, struggles, joys and triumphs of people one never would have imagined.
It’s also the first step in understanding the true complexity, intricacy, and importance of talking about one’s farts.
It’s weird, when I first jumped right into the situation, being surrounded by people who can’t speak a lick of English, everything seemed so intimidating. Why is everyone speaking so quickly? Is it always going to be this loud? From the constant cacophony of the foreign tongue, I couldn’t parse a single word from the noise, never mind determine between tenses, moods, genders, nouns, adjectives and all the rest. Because of the rapid rate, and the Italian penchant for wild gesticulation, it really seemed as though every conversation were some form of argument, if not an outright declaration of war. I now know this was just the impression of a beginner’s ear.
As I learned and listened more, I was able to discern and determine more and greater nuance to every comment, conversation, or piece of idle chatter. As well, as I have begun to speak with people learning English, a native speaker’s conversational rate may seem relaxed and meandering to them, but to someone picking up the basics it may as well be the intricate political arguments of a competitive high school speed debater.
So there I was, relaxed, but actively listening to a group of married couples excitedly engaged in conversation as usual, when I began to realise something: I knew what they were going on about! It turns out, Italians are people just like we are in Canada: they fart! Not only that, but their significant others are bothered by it! This was a very humanizing revelation, as it was described that this poor woman was awoken by the sound of her husband’s gas in the middle of the night. Wait, was it the sound itself, or the tremor that was felt? Seeing that I was giggling along, and to emphasize her point, she looked right at me and said in English, “the sound!”
This led to an immediate correction, “the noise.” To which I re-corrected, “no, the sound.” Which in turn led to another debate, which picked up a pace so fervent I lost track and entered a meditative state of flatulent contemplation.
Does a fart make a noise, or does a fart make a sound? Surely it depends upon the farter. Is the one farting an active participant, or merely a passive victim of a gaseous onslaught? Much like a trumpet that can be played to make a beautiful sound, or needlessly blown to noisy effect, can one’s backside be said to do something similar? Now we’re no longer describing a fart itself, but the nature of the verb to fart. The fart doesn’t fart. A person farts and that fart makes the sound, or is it a noise?
Of course, one’s fart can be noisy, but it could also be sound, as if the person sounding said sound were quite sure of themselves. But I digress…
Learning anything new is hard. Learning a language for the first time in that language’s home can sometimes feel like learning to swim while drowning: it’s scary, leaves you breathless, and feels coldly isolating.
When encountering a newcomer to anything, really, be kind, rewind. By that I mean don’t be afraid to repeat yourself. Don’t be afraid to slow down. Don’t be afraid to be misunderstood, and don’t be afraid to forgive. Misunderstandings happen to the most eloquent of loquacious locutors, and whether we’re recounting an intimate midnight breeze, asking for a bag at the supermarket, or debating the latest political nightmare, we must ask ourselves: which do we desire most, to be understood or to understand?
Lest the groceries fall out of my bagless hands, for the most part I find my life more fulfilling if I give a person the benefit of the doubt and wait to see what they actually have to say. Many times it’s something interesting, or at least thought provoking, for better or worse.
Besides, regardless of the words we use, we’re all speaking our own language formed by our own thoughts, feelings, circumstances and perceptions, so we may as well put pretension aside (hard for me!) and deign to make things easier for the other: waiting for them to finish instead of waiting for your turn to speak; listening to them instead of listening for their mistakes; speaking with them instead of at them.
Also, does it betray my obvious Canadian-ness to note that the first phrase I learn in any new language is, “I’m sorry”?
Side Note 1:
I was once laughed out of a gift shop at the airport in Madrid because I asked for a bolso (lady’s handbag) instead of a bolsa (shopping bag). I mean, give a guy a break.
Side Note 2:
Two years ago on my birthday I was in an Italian hospital room, with its own unique sights and sounds to behold. On top of this, I was surrounded by strange Italians from all over the country rapidly cooing as I remained silent and puzzled. Of course, the reason for all the hubbub was the newest edition to the extended Savino family, Antonella’s newest nephew, Damiano!
Well, Damiano’s father Maurizio was cradling the newborn in his arms when the little guy let out a rumble and a toot! Giggling commenced and that is how I learned the verb to fart in Italian, scoreggiare! Damiano ha scoreggiato!
A Nix in Brixia 