Language Diary

These days I dream about one thing more than about anything else — that I'll be able to explain myself in English in the same playful and spontaneous manner as I can do in my native language. I like English, but I have a peculiar relationship with it. All my life, I’ve studied English inadvertently and on the fly without a proper reason — for example, because I had to speak with guests in a bar, wanted to understand the lyrics of foreign bands, or wanted to read books in English. To be honest, studying this language had never been a specific goal for me in the first place. I acquired bits and pieces of English that helped me manage my life better. But when English learning became a goal in itself, I had to deal with numerous obstacles.

My native language has always been my best friend. Every year of my life, I've learned the meanings and nuances of it, through TV shows, friends' chats, and books. I know my native language inside and out and can convey any message in any possible way. However, I can't play with English in the same way. My process of writing in English often feels like I'm trying to go against the wind, defending myself with a flimsy toolkit of words. I lack a strong vocabulary and have a vague understanding of syntax. I feel almost completely disoriented with gerunds and infinitives. Native speakers correct my writing a lot. I can’t freely tweak tenses, changing them elegantly, gracefully, on the fly. No one around me has done what I’m doing and who can reassure me that I'll handle it. Finally, this language is not my property by birthright, with the result that almost always when I’m trying to speak or write I feel absolute helplessness. It feels like I've lost my sense of language in a sudden car crash, and now have a specific handicap - the inability to explain myself properly.

Still, I’m mesmerized by the glory of this language. It feels like a feast to read in English: I devour words and sentences, enjoying everything, whether it’s rhythm or syntax. My limitations in English only motivate me to study it more. I know that I can’t speed up the process of learning to the extent I’d like to, just skipping everything and coming to the final point.

That's true that it's very difficult sometimes for me not to be harsh on myself when there's no progress. I have to admit that at times I want to give up. However, even though I make mistakes, forget articles, and misuse collocations, I still want to keep going and this is more important than any mistake. I’ll make mistakes in the process of learning; it's a given. The question is, will I blame myself and overburden myself with unrealistic self-expectations? Or will I shrug and say “Well, today I've made only 30 mistakes and it's much less than a month ago.”

These days I dream about one thing more than about anything else — that I'll be able to explain myself in English in the same playful and spontaneous manner as I can do in my native language. I like English, but I have a peculiar relationship with it. All my life, I’ve studied English informally and on the fly without a proper reason — for example, because I had to speak with guests in a bar, wanted to understand the lyrics of foreign bands, or wanted to read books in English. To be honest, studying this language has never been a specific goal for me in the first place. I acquired bits and pieces of English that helped me manage my life better. But when English learning became a goal in itself, I had to deal with numerous obstacles.

My native language has always been my best friend. Every year of my life, I've learned its meanings and nuances, through TV shows, friends' chats, and books. I know my native language inside and out and can convey any message in any possible way. However, I can't play with Englis the same way. My process of writing in English often feels like I'm trying to go against the wind, defending myself with a flimsy toolkit of words. I lack a strong vocabulary and have a vague understanding of syntax. I feel almost completely disoriented with gerunds and infinitives. Native speakers correct my writing a lot. I can’t freely tweak tenses, changing them elegantly, gracefully, on the fly. No one around me has done what I’m doing, so they can't reassure me that I'll handle it. Finally, this language is not my property by birthright, so when I’m trying to speak or write I almost always feel absolutely helpless. It feels like I've lost my sense of language in a sudden car crash, and now have a specific handicap - the inability to explain myself properly.

Still, I’m mesmerized by the glory of this language. It feels like a feast to read in English: I devour words and sentences, enjoying everything, whether it’s rhythm or syntax. My limitations in English only motivate me to study it more. I know that I can’t speed up the process of learning to the extent I’d like to, just skipping everything and coming to the final point.

That's true that it's very difficult sometimes for me not to be harsh on myself when there's no progress. I have to admit that at times I want to give up. However, even though I make mistakes, forget articles, and misuse collocations, I still want to keep going and this is more important than any mistake. I’ll make mistakes in the process of learning; it's a given. The question is, will I blame myself and overburden myself with unrealistic self-expectations? Or will I shrug and say “Well, today I've made only 30 mistakes and it's much less than a month ago.”