Feb 27 2009

In foreign land

Published by at 12:54 am under life,theatre

I write for a living, and I write for pleasure…and I can tell the difference. Does that make me less of a whore?

Perhaps it is that I am at odds with myself sometimes, so I can accommodate better to the quirky irrationality of being 80% of my time operating in a language that is not my own, but in a country that is my own and whose language alienates me…so to speak.

Perhaps that is why I am trying to incorporate yet another, one of those that fall in the “least interesting” category, so I can avoid facing the fact that I am a foreigner at home…yet, again, does that make me less of a whore?

Maybe it won’t. So I’ll walk the streets of a city that has not welcomed me since I got back and fight my odds. I’m off to Guanajuato in only a few days, and you are welcome there. Let us look for adventure, let us be somewhere.

2 responses so far

2 Responses to “In foreign land”

  1. Fiammaon 28 Feb 2009 at 11:40 am

    A veces sucede que no se posee una sola lengua como vehículo de comunicación. O se debe establecer al diferencia entre lo comunicable desde una cuestión fáctica y lo factible de ser comunicado desde nuestros sentimientos.
    Tal vez se pueda optar por la “resiganación” o darle un célebre turn of the screw y decidir que se posee una riqueza, un secreto bien.
    Una tal vez sea la lengua de la amistad fraternal; otra, la del trabajo; una tercera, la familiar; otra, la del impuesto cotidiano. ¿Será el secreto “sumar desde la diversidad? ¿Seguir siendo uno desde una multiplicidad? ¿Celebrar que hay múltiples lugares en los que se puede “estar al abrigo”?

    Un saludo

  2. Woolfianon 03 Mar 2009 at 12:27 pm

    Dear Fiamma,

    It is so. Sometimes only one language cannot communicate our multiple selves. When it comes to feelings, many things can be communicated even without words, and I find only one language to be limiting when expressing the multiplicity of human emotions.

    I guess I’ll stay with the richness and secrecy of codes, the protection of finding a purpose for a maze that loses me more than it finds me at times.

    Thanks for dropping by. I’m writing this from an airport and I am supposed to believe it is 8.30 am, when in fact yesterday it was almost 11.30 am right now for me…Interesting, times around the world are pretty much like languages, getting mixed in one unique surface and yet remaining entirely individual.

    Regards,

    W.

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