New Language

I imagine many of you have read the book titled, “The Five Love Languages,” where someone managed to package love into five pretty boxes so it would make sense to us. I think the ideas are extremely valuable, but during the last couple of weeks, I have had to look at expressions of love differently; I was missing them because they didn’t really fit the categories that were established in the bestseller or in my mind – not because people weren’t lovin’. The director of our school helped me gain a better perspective, and our conversation helped me see what people were doing to communicate their concern, their care, and their friendship. I told her I felt lonely during the day, and she told me that the majority of the teachers were afraid to talk with me – they felt embarrassed because they could not say anything beyond “hello.” I told her I should be the one embarrassed – I was trying to work into their world, and all I could say was “mango” and “water” (for the record, I have added a few more words and phrases to my vocabulary: “rice”, “beautiful”, “no more rice, thank you”, “little bit” and “delicious, but I really can’t handle any more rice”). And it makes sense – it’s so uncomfortable to be in a conversation when you don’t know what to say… and here, we don’t even know the words to use when the ideas are present. It’s frustrating, it’s awkward, it’s humbling – on both ends. But it’s kind of funny, that in the middle of those feelings, there’s a mutual understanding that says, “hey, we’re all trying here.”

So I have new categories – the first is presence. There is one teacher in particular who just knows people. He knew how I was feeling – as everyone congregated at one table and I was left at another, he knew. So he sat with me. He smiled, and I smiled, and we ate. We talked a little from day to day, but it was mostly silent. When I finally quit thinking about how uncomfortable I was and acknowledged how much he was giving in simply being with me, I teared up a little. I said thank you, and I hoped he knew how much I meant it. He said, “nevermind,” and smiled. And we kept eating.

I know one of the languages is physical touch, but I’m going to be more specific, so the next category is patting. My grandma used to do this actually – she’d pat everyone on the back or the butt – every friend I introduced to her would be a little surprised at first, but it was always very endearing. It’s the same here. A woman who works in the office greets me every morning, and she pats my stomach. I love her – it’s clear she has a huge heart. We say hi, repeat some of the same things a few times, and smile… and the whole time she pats my stomach. I figure it means she feels comfortable with me, but I really have to focus on my stomach – whatever you do to suck in a little and tighten up a little… but not in an obvious way. She’s not the only one – I would say I get poked in the belly between four and five times a day. This isn’t really my favorite form of communication, but I also know that I sure wouldn’t pat the stomach of a stranger or a sworn enemy, so I’m gonna go with it. And do more crunches.

The last category is knowing and thinking. Knowing what someone likes, does, or needs and thinking of them. These are the million “little” things that are so meaningful. A teacher shouts out, “Molly! Coffee!” when the coffee is ready in the morning. When my forehead is beading up, a man on the other side of the room turns on the fan without a word. A woman in the kitchen makes sure I know which foods contain wheat, and she’ll say “no” when I’m eyeing something on the counter… but she saves me the caramelized bananas and coconut. Delicious. She knows. An older woman who cleans the school has been watching me give high fives to the kids as they leave the English room, so now she gives me a high five whenever I see her. She’s about sixty, and her eyes light up every time. She has no idea that it makes my day – she initiates something that helps us connect. The kids know too – a seventh grade boy came to school with a bag of green mangos for me; “I picked them from our tree this morning.” First grade girls sit at the door with toothless grins, begging me to play with them.

So the report is that I’m learning to speak a new language. It feels good to be a little bit more fluent, a little more aware. I think this could help me in most relationships. Rather than focusing on how I can be understood, I need to try to understand. I can think of a list of people who would appreciate that (Love ya, Mama).