Since I was a kid watching my mom easily navigate the world in two languages, it has always been my goal to learn Spanish. When I finally got to college and was given the opportunity to study abroad, I knew this was it—my time to finally put all my years of language classes to use.
What I didn’t realize, however, was how hard the transition would be. I had decided before the semester began that I was going to take all my classes in Spanish, a challenge I felt I was ready for. When I arrived in Buenos Aires, though, I felt so over my head, struggling with my Spanish both in class and at my homestay, seemingly forgetting everything I had ever learned every time I opened my mouth. I found myself unconsciously seeking out other English speakers, realizing that it would be easier to connect with people if I weren’t faced with a language barrier. I was nervous to interact with people beyond the few words of a grocery-store checkout, and raising my hand in class had me questioning if I would even be able to articulate the thoughts that were spinning inside my head.
About halfway through the first week of class, though, I looked around at the six international students in my class, discussing literature through the viewpoints of six different nationalities, and I realized how lucky I was to be in this room, not only learning a new language, but getting to interact with people that I never would have been able to communicate with had we not all chosen to learn Spanish. I left that class with a smile on my face, suddenly so much more willing to participate, feeling the sense of ultimate satisfaction that comes from speaking a second language—the pride of realizing you’ve improved at something and the joy of communicating with someone new.
Over the next few weeks, as my confidence in Spanish grew, I continued to feel this same kind of satisfaction in every interaction I had. I spent ten minutes chatting with the owner of a cute shop that sold chipas (chewy South American cheese breads made from mandioca flour) and left with a grin spreading across my face, happy that I could tell her all about my hometown. I came home every day from school excited to sit in the kitchen and tell my host mom all about my day, asking her for advice on classes, travel, and daily life in the city.
The sunset view from my 18th-floor apartment, looking out over the city as my host mom and I chat while she makes dinner.
Throughout the two months I’ve been in Buenos Aires so far, I’ve felt an ever-present fluctuation between days where my Spanish feels invincible and so easily attainable, and days where I can barely think in English, let alone try to translate my tangled mess of thoughts. I’ve had days where the frustration was overwhelming, and I felt like I hadn’t learned a single thing in all the weeks I’ve been here.
A park close by where I can call my family and gather my thoughts on days it feels impossible to communicate in Spanish.
But the days in which I go out of my way to talk to new people, in which I raise my hand in class and chat with my host family for hours over the dinner table—these are the days that I rest my head on my pillow with a smile on my face at the end of the day. I lay in bed thinking about the friends I’ve made from all over the world, the Argentinians I’ve met, and all the interactions I would never have been able to have without this new language. I have so much I hope to learn over this semester, and I still have a million more words to learn in Spanish and a million more hours I need to practice. But even just making a start has brought the joy of so many new people into my life.