Why Write in Your Second Language

The ultimate betrayal is to choose to write in another language. – Ha Jin

I grow up reading a lot of books. I interested in wide range of domains and topics and tried my best to be a somewhat polygamous reader, but when I look back today, It seems that my preference of books is heavily skewed toward literature. I read much more literature especially modern Chinese literature than any other books combined together. Anyway, being young and impatient as I was, I probably devoured too many of them without a deep understanding. I come to regret deeply for this nowadays.

About 7 years ago, I went on a diet: I stopped reading almost any books that are written in Chinese, and followed a strict rule about consuming content only in English. I listen to podcasts on my way to work, read english books and watch tv series (without subtitles) at weekends. The only “Chinese” books I finished reading in the last 7 years, if I recall correctly, is Lenin’s Kisses by Yan Lianke. Actually, I read the translated version of this book in English. Like I said, a strict rule, no Chinese books.

I am not going to lie to you, due to my limited vocabularies back then, the first few months/years of the journey is quite excrutiating. I would fall asleep halfway listening to a podcast, because i had little understanding of what the hosts were even talking about. I probably have given up too many unfinished readings. It was hard to read a 500+ pages book when the lexical resource in your brain only resembled that of a 9 years old. When you don’t have the faintest idea of the content, it is taxing to pretend that you are enjoying it.

Then it just clicked. The unfamiliarity of a foreign language faded away. I felt less and less frustrated when bombarded by more sophiscated english words that I have never encountered before. It is hard to pinpoint the exact time when all this happened. Was it that afternoon when I read Human Kind A Hopeful History by Rutger Bregman the second time? Or, was it the third time I listen to Harry Potter Audiobooks narrated by Stephen Fry while cooking dinner? Or that day When I was cleaning the toilet and listening to Bullshit Jobs by David Graeber? I think there might never have been such a moment, the improvements are gradual and amortised in a timespan of 7 years, day by day, word by word.

Then I started writing logs in English. At first the log was more like a todo list than a proper entry in a diary. Again because I don’t have enough words at my disposal to even describe a daily routine. But as time went by, my writing got better. Nowadays when I open the old daries, the words I used and the grammar mistakes I made always crack me up.

I am pretty certain a few years (or a few months) in the future I will blush when I read this post again. One important thing I realised during this long journey is to embrace your imperfection. The sole purpose of a language is to convey information, as long as you are making sense (at least to someone), you are using it correctly. Grammar is way too overrated.

As a parting note for today, I have to tell you another hidden motivation for why I choose to write in English instead of Chinese of which I have obviously better grasp. It goes like this:

The language we use constructs the reality we perceive. When you only speak with your mother tougue, you are only operating in your default settings. you don’t see the water around you¹.

I come to realise there is a downside in this endeavor too. When you see “the weirdness” in your own culture, when you start to feel like an alien in your skin. A Youtuber summaries this feeling in the most elegant way I can imagine:

The pain, the true torment, is the confusion, for the bigger the circle of the known, the greater the contact with the unknown, and the more firmly unlearnt believes used to stand, the more helplessly your new identity totters, If you are lucky enough to study Farsi, you may realise that not all the beautiful poetry is written in your mother tongue, the Persian epics written in the Sasanian Empire are as beautiful as poems of the Tang Dynasty… Because, you see, after learning a language, if you care enough, part of you becomes a member of the tribe to which the language belongs, and that cultural schizophrenia can be truly excruciating…

(language learning) is for those curious enough to see the world as it is and those brave enough to tear down the veils of bigotry instead of comfortably hiding behind the linguistic barrier and refusing to step forward and know your fellow human beings or even the so-called enemies… But in such pain, and perhaps only in such pain, can we overcome misunderstandings, bridge cultures and civilizations and find a world of peace and prosperity.

Did I forget to mention the title of this youtube video? It is “Learning Languages Ruined My Life”. In some way, this is also the story of how learning English ruined my life. Now please go and watch it.