Month: November 2013 (page 3 of 3)

Learning Language

Ever since I was very young, I have always had a knack for language. I enjoyed it in multiple forms, like reading, writing, speaking. In addition to English, I’ve also loved learning other languages, especially Spanish. One could say that those silly Spanish movies I watched in elementary school got me hooked.

My goal to become bilingual was one of the reasons why I chose to study abroad for a semester. I knew that I wanted to have ample time to immerse myself fully in the language and culture of Spain. And, I have to say, learning the language has been one of the most rewarding experiences in my time here.

At first, I was blindsided by the total immersion in Spanish. Although I consider myself a proficient Spanish speaker, it was quite a shock to be surrounded by all Spanish, all the time. And, to make matters worse, I could barely understand a word my host mom was saying, much less think of a coherent response. The first few weeks were tough because of the rapid transition between languages. It was also difficult because I was scared to speak in Spanish for fear of making a mistake. I didn’t want to be that silly American butchering her Spanish, so I just didn’t talk. Slowly, however, I realized that they only way to improve my language was to use it.

Through the past nine weeks, I have experienced many changes regarding my Spanish. I have undoubtedly become more adept at both speaking and listening. Yes, that means less awkward pauses and blank stares while conversing with my host mom (thank goodness). I can also now eavesdrop on the conversations that occur on the street. Granted, that is not a terribly important skill to have, but it makes me feel good to know that I can actually understand the natives without trying.

The strangest part of the experience of learning a language rapidly is the constant jumble of words in my head. When I need to be thinking in English (like when writing this blog) I will think of words in Spanish. Then, when I am in class, listening to Spanish, I sometimes end up writing notes in English. The ever-present jumble of words gives new meaning to the term, “Spanglish!”

I am thrilled with the language progress that I have made whilst in Spain. Although I have yet to dream in Spanish (which some say is the sign of being fluent), I know that my language has come so far. So while I am happy with my language progress, I think the most important thing that I have learned since arriving in Spain is to speak up. For anybody learning a language, speaking it is the only way to get better. Don’t let fear hold you back from achieving fluency. Just put yourself out there and talk away!

It’s just one breathtaking view after another in Granada.

~Rebecca Jaeger

 

 

The Fear Factor

Dear anonymous blog reader, I’m curious: Do you like scary movies?

Last week was Halloween, but the holiday still lingers…at least for me.

I practically pulled an all-nighter Wednesday night. Well, I had a nice three hour nap from 6:30 a.m. to 9:30 a.m., but for the bulk of the actual, blanketed-by-darkness nighttime, I was wide awake. To paint a more vivid picture, I alternated between YouTube videos, Facebook, a project for a class and a book of adorable dog photos that my sister gave me last Christmas. Surprisingly, the project wasn’t what kept me awake – although the rare productivity during the wee hours of the night/morning was an added bonus. No…I was scared.

In all honesty, in the glorious light of daytime, I feel like a pansy even writing this. The idea of fear has always fascinated me in a keep-a-far-distance sort of way, though. I’m amazed by the fact that some people love scary movies, T.V. shows and haunted-house-type horrors. My cousin is one of them. She just enjoys the thrill of screaming at a horror movie in theaters or having bloody, masked strangers jump out at her at a “haunted hayride.”

I’ve never really understood the enjoyment factor, but that’s just a personal thing. I simply don’t enjoy the rising sensation of panic in my chest or the creeping knowledge that these images will forever have some sort of life behind my closed eyelids.

I’ve always wondered how other people process scary images and stories, because the concept is foreign to me. I mean, I was the little kid who was terrified after seeing an episode of the T.V. show “Arthur” (yes, the loveable aardvark) that featured a banshee.

Going back to the very beginning, my first memories of Halloween were sheltered.

Yup. This is yours truly. That pink thing is my younger sis.

I do remember wanting to be a blue Minnie Mouse the first time that I dressed in costume. “But Minnie Mouse wears red,” everyone would remind me gently. I didn’t care; I was two and a half years old. I wanted to have a blue Minnie Mouse dress with polka dots and a blue Minnie Mouse bow. Convention be darned.

That was also the year that I enjoyed dressing up so much that I wore a cat costume to celebrate Thanksgiving. But that’s another story.

Digging deeper though, I remember a distinct absence of anything horror-related throughout my earlier Halloweens. If a commercial for a scary movie came on the T.V., the channel was instantly changed. When I got older, Halloween parties became a whole different ballgame. My parents would encourage me not to go…but who listens to the wisdom of their parents in high school? My parents evidently knew me better than I knew myself, however, because the first time that I went to a high school Halloween party – complete with a token horror film – I didn’t sleep for weeks. Amityville Horror, I’m finally calling you out for this: way to deprive me of my normal sleeping patterns for a long time! Also, way to kill off my favorite character: the dog. And those demonic hands at the end? Seriously?! Nightmares! So many nightmares!

Sorry, there’s clearly more pent-up hostility toward this movie than I realized. It didn’t help that I was living in my grandparents’ old New England house at the time. Stupid creaky floorboards.

I’ve gotten somewhat better since high school at gauging what I can handle and what I can’t. Sometimes, though, I slip up – and the result is the occasional sleepless night…like last night. My issue isn’t always the content itself but the fear of what will happen when I finally close my eyes and drift off into my subconscious. My other problems: I have (a.) incredibly realistic dreams, and (b.) a ridiculously overactive imagination.

Overactive imaginations: good for writing, occasionally bad for sleeping.

~Caitlyn Goodhue

Send a Smile

 

When was the last time you received a letter in the mail? Perhaps it was on your birthday or around a holiday. Regardless of when it was, you can probably remember the last time because letters come so rarely. Even though it may not be a big deal to some people, when I see a letter in my mailbox I’m absolutely elated. Just knowing that someone took the time to physically write me a note makes my day.

What is it about letters that makes them so special? To me, seeing someone’s handwriting makes all the difference. Yes, we can customize font via email or add emojis to a text message, but thanks to the backspace key we never see the mistakes that the writer makes along the way. The scribbles and eraser marks that often come with a letter remind us that no one is perfect in communication and that reminder simply does not translate through technology.

Letters are a fantastic way to make sure to stay in touch with those who you do not have a chance to see very often in manner that is much more personal than writing on a Facebook wall. My best friend from middle school goes to school in Massachusetts and spends most of the year there, so we hardly see each other. Every once in a while we send each other surprise letters to keep each
other updated on our classes, our friends, and our lives in general. Seeing her handwriting makes me feel like we’re still close, even though we’re eight hours away from each other.

As a Communication major, I’ve learned that there is so much more to communicating than the actual words that we say. There are facial expressions, nonverbal messages, and body language cues that are conveyed each time we talk to someone face-to-face. While we certainly cannot replicate these additions to communication in letter writing, I like to think that handwriting comes with its own “body language”, from the curve of a “y” to the loop of a cursive “L” to the angle of a “k”. To me, handwritten letters tell a lot about the writer beyond the words without the writer even realizing it.

Texts and emails are deleted with the click of a button, but letters are a tangible reminder of how much someone cares. The next time you’re thinking of someone, sit down and write them a note. All it takes is a piece of paper, an envelope, and a stamp to make someone’s day so much brighter.

Stand Up, Be Heard

I’ve never been shy about sharing my voice. I’m that annoying guy in the third row of your 8 AM that constantly has another question to ask, another opinion to share. This need to express myself is what led me to my major (International Relations) so I could get involved in politics – which is unfortunately all too often just a bunch of people shouting their opinions at each other – and is also what originally drew me to music. Having a vehicle to express every ounce of frustration, every drop of depression is invaluable to me, and I couldn’t imagine my life without some sense of musicality.

So, naturally, I sing every chance I get – particularly on my way to class.

The Amy DuPont Music Building

As I was coming home from class last week, caught up in a deeply impassioned (and maybe slightly off-key) rendition of Bonnie Tyler’s “Total Eclipse of the Heart,” I ran into another student muttering the falsetto of “Bohemian Rhapsody” under his breath. We acknowledged each other with a curt nod, and something about the encounter felt strange to me. It wasn’t until I reached my apartment that I realized what kept bugging me. Aside from the music building and the Center for the Arts, I’ve never seen someone else singing on campus.

Intrigued by this recent revelation, I approached the topic with a girl from my freshman-year floor (a notorious hair brush singer). I knew it wasn’t due to a lack of love of music; the multitude of people walking around with headphones is enough to convince me of that. When I asked her why she didn’t walk around belting like she used to in the hallway of Russell D, she replied with, “Because I can’t sing.”

And my heart broke a little bit.

We are consistently surrounded by people telling us we’re not good enough. Whether it be failing to score that internship you really wanted, not doing as well on that exam as you hoped, or facing unrealistic expectations of beauty and body image in the media, so many of us feel the compulsion to work harder, try more, or be the best. Many times, this is an asset; without such motivation, we’d never push ourselves enough to improve. This should never be the case with music, however. Melodies exist for everyone’s enjoyment, a catharsis intertwined with the most basic essence of man. Questionable tone quality or a slight tendency to stray from the correct pitch shouldn’t deter anyone from discovering the magic of belting the perfect song to fit the moment. Music was created out of love, out of sorrow, and out of desperation, and as college students soon approaching the beginning of finals and the end of the semester, we’re bound to experience all of these.

So I have a message for you, Delaware:

Everyone has a song to sing, and everyone has a voice to be heard. Whether you’re the next Andrea Bocelli or you’d put William Hung to shame, stand up, take a deep breath, and let it all out. We each have a story to tell, and I want to hear yours.

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