verbal relationship

Tonight was amazing. I've been meaning to write again, knowing that people have said over and over again over the years that I have a way with words. People have said, "I'd read a book if you wrote it." Honestly, I haven't been reading many books lately, and my writing really isn't what it used to be. But I think (I hope) that when you have a way with words, it doesn't just vanish like smoke because you get out of practice. As proof, I present evidence in the form of emotional eloquence: when emotion hits, my words paint pictures and make rhythms without much intent.

One thing hasn't changed, and that is, the central place of words in my life. I've been realizing that there are some people to whom words mean the world. For whom words are the building blocks of reality, and everything else is supporting evidence. I am one of those people. Unless I'm careful, I'll listen to your words and not watch your actions or your facial expressions. Other people, though, are different. For them, words can be hard to put together; or maybe they don't mean much, because to such people they don't stand up to the picture actions or patterns paint.

But because I am so verbally inclined, and further, verbally trained, words have taken a central place in my life. I grew up with four languages in my brain, five if you count the one highschool brought into my life. So I was always known for the languages I knew. My languages are as much a part of me as my extended family, and being asked which ones I speak and how many is like being asked "who's your momma and daddy?". Going to college was a respite from being defined by how many languages I knew, just as much as it was a break from being my parents' daughter.

But now, having graduated and started my adult life, I've come back to my languages, my verbal virtuosity and versatility and made it into a livelihood. As an interpreter in the medical field, I code-switch every few phrases, trying to find the closest equivalent as fast as you can blink, doing my best to match register and context. This has led to unexpected difficulties. For one, it's made my many languages so readily available to me all the time, that it's sometimes hard to stick to just one. I'll be talking to you and suddenly throw in some German, because I couldn't think of the right English words. Another thing is that at work, the words are never my words. After a long day, it can be a relief just to say my own opinion.

I guess what I'm saying is, this: words have been my entertainment, my self-expression, my family heritage, my teachers, the focus of my studies, my information portal, and now my bread-winners. I'm surprised to note how much their functions in my life have changed - still central, always central, but not the same.

So, why was today amazing? Because I got to witness two breathtaking artists, and listen to the words they put together out of their hearts, and because they reminded me that I, too, need to write.
This may be a rusty piece, but it's good to be trying (at least trying) to write again.