volunteerspeak

We speak a tongue you will never understand, with words you've never heard before tossed in for good measure. We've married Hebrew, English, Russian, Spanish, German, Polish, Arabic, and Swedish in a roaring polygamous ceremony; and we won't apologize, not at all. We abuse all languages liberally, making messy Hebrew plurals out of English nouns, Russian verbaging any word we please, remembering the correct English word by hearing it in Spanish first, making good use of the delightfully serious German specificity, lending strict and beautiful Polish pronunciation to everything.

It's only two of us in the office, but combined we possess four different languages. He sneezes (in Spanish, I presume) and I bless him in Spanish, and he thanks me in English. Without thinking, I answer in Hebrew, and it is only then that we realize what we have done, and he looks at me and asks if I, a child of English, really just said what he heard, and I read his eye crinkles and we laugh for just a moment while we load our baskets.

But really, my heart is breaking, because I know that this time is short, that my days immersed in this pidgin are numbered, that soon I will leave, and there will be only one language to use.

And much as I love my mother tongue, I know it will be flat and boring and colorless after the shimmering vibrant tumult that is conversation here.