Our closest friends and our greatest loves are out there in the world, but what if they’re in Kenya, or Chile, or China, or Spain?  What if our kindred spirits are speaking Swahili or Chinese or Spanish?  Even if we met them, came face to face, we may never know the connection we share if a language barrier is standing in the way.

For me, this is one of the most compelling reasons to learn a second language.  Just speaking one other swings open the floodgates of communication to a whole population of people.

If ever I’ve struggled with Spanish grammar – “por and para,” “ser and estar,” subjunctive – if ever I’ve stumbled over pronunciation, or destroyed the accent, or felt embarrassed, I have to say it’s been worth it for the relationships it has allowed me to form.  Above all, my friendship with my host mom, Marta, is worth any degree of foolishness I’ve felt in grappling with this foreign tongue.

Marta is the spunkiest 37-year-old I know.  She’s the hardworking mother of twin 10-year-old boys, a wife, a sister, a daughter, and a host mom.  She starts the day at 7AM and is on the go till late at night.  She has plenty reason to be generally flustered and preoccupied, and yet has made space in her life for me.  Hanging with Marta feels like hanging with my best friend.

I go where Marta goes:  to the center for shopping, to the rooftop to collect the clothes from the line, to Ochoa (a café) for merienda (6PM coffee break).  We run errands, go for walks, sit and chat after meals.  I’m to learning to use a batidora (a mixer of sorts) and to make bizcocho with yogurt and lemon rind.  I’m learning to joke, to whisper, and to catch innuendos in Spanish.

Last week, we took a walk to the center of Sevilla to buy postcards.  Along the way we passed a convent whose chapel was open to the public.  Curiosity led us inside.

Looking back, nothing was really that funny.  But laughing when you’re not supposed to compounds the issue exponentially.  What started out as the giggles evolved rapidly into an uncontrollable laughing fit.  Kneeling at the front of the chapel, we buried our faces in our folded hands as we tried to bear the hilarity in silence.  With at least 20 nuns in prayer behind us, I found myself hoping our heaving breaths sounded more like sobs than laughter.  Unable to compose ourselves, we finally had to get up and leave.

With Marta, losing it like this is commonplace.  Laughter is her way of life.  She can find humor in the face of challenge or in the monotony of a weekday afternoon.  She has a way of laughing air into even the most trying situations.  Enough talk about stress management – this ebullient spirit has it down.  Her trick?  She doesn’t take herself too seriously.  The result?  Life is fun with Marta.  I’m trying to take a page out of her book.

Sometimes I feel right on the money with my español and sometimes I still feel hopeless in the face of endless vocabulary.  Whatever the case, I can say with certainty that the years of tedious worksheets and listening exercises and practice dialogues are proving worth it.  These skills have come to life in Spain and have allowed me to come to know a dear friend.  There’s no better pay off than that.  I am happy and grateful.

*Photo courtesy of Brian Rosenthal, Medill journalist and photographer extraordinaire – also Marta’s host son from the Fall semester, making him my host brother.  Thank you, Brian!