So, I Married a Polyglot

               I married a polyglot.  My husband did not.   Ben is fluent in Tagalog (the national language of the Philippines), Cebuano (the dialect from his island) and English. He speaks passable, Arabic and Spanish.  I can speak English, enough American Sign Language to be considered a mildly communicative introvert and Spanish, but only to the extent that I can order food, ask for the bathroom and admire your statues, should you have any.

                I feel I need to learn Tagalog (pronounced Tuh-gah-log, not Tag-a-log Like I thought), if for no other reason than I want to understand my husband’s heritage.  Also, I want to be able to at least carry on a conversation with his family in their native tongue.  To do otherwise is arrogant and I am not trying to be that American, y’all.  

                Ben has been a patient teacher trying to help my Southern mouth wrap around the syllables and pronunciations of this unfamiliar language.  There are nasal tones and a lot of use of the back portion of the tongue on the roof of the mouth, which is difficult.  I’ve been practicing but there are times it feels like I’m making fun of Asian people because the words sound incorrect to my English ears.  At the same time, I am introducing Ben to some of the more relaxed vernacular of America, especially the South.

                There have been times where we’ve discussed the limitations of languages and how difficult it must be to a non-native speaker to learn English as there are so many quirky rules.  He feels Tagalog is a complete language, but I disagree.  There have been a number of times where Tagalog has been found lacking in its ability to translate all the phrases that pop out of my mouth on a frequent basis.  I have decided to share with you the Top Ten Phrases That Cannot be Translated in Tagalog.

1.       “That heifer needs to get somebody to fix this closet door!” Referring to our landlord.

2.       “All right, sister friend, you need to learn how to merge or get out of my way!” Referring to the ridiculous woman in front of us on The 405.  This was said with the window rolled up because I am not about to get shot, y’all.

3.       “That big donkey is 17 kinds of stupid!” Referring to so many people.

4.       “Do what now?”   The way I sometimes ask for clarification.

5.       “Your Mama didn’t raise you right!”  Referring, again, to so many people.

6.       “They are workin’ my last nerve, for real!”  See above.

7.       “My cousin is straight runnin’ crazy!”  You know who you are.

8.       “I’m-a pray for you, heathen!”  Often said with (self) righteous condemnation, like a good Evangelical.

9.       “Today put a whoopin’ on me like I stole money from it!”  Said at the end of a particularly rough day.

10.   “My bad, girl!”  Said more often than I care to admit, referring to both men and women.

You see, there are limits to Tagalog.  To be fair there are limits to English as well, since Redneck is not a recognized language, even though I speak it fluently.  We’ll keep working at it until we get it right.

Lyon lang ang sinasabi ko ngayon, y’all.  For real.

Notes on Marriage: Year One

              I have been married for a little over a year.  As I’ve reflected on Year One, I must say that I’ve learned so many of the oft hidden nuances of love and marriage with my best friend who likes to smooch.  One of those nuances is the feeling you get when you’ve demonstrated your love for your spouse, and they have no idea that you did, so they don’t quite understand your look of quiet satisfaction in the knowledge that you are a ‘giver’ and possibly ‘love them more’ than they love you.  It’s a selfless kind of smug superiority.  Allow me to explain. 

                Saturday morning my delightful husband woke up early and walked to our favorite local bakery and bought me a ham and cheese croissant, literally the same size as my face, which we all know is substantial.  It’s one of my favorite breakfasts.  I cut the croissant in half, deciding to save the rest for him to enjoy post-swim, as he immediately left for the gym to get his daily exercise.

                I was content with my portion and savoring each bite and drinking the Army-strong coffee, made perfectly sweet with enough cream and fake sugar to make my liver gently weep.  After a half-hour, I glanced at the remaining croissant and it beckoned.  No, I thought, I’m saving that for Ben.  He will enjoy it and be touched by my generosity and I will be the best husband in all the land.  But like James Bond taught us, Never Say Never.

                I held fast for about 15 minutes.  I swear to you, the croissant made an overt gesture, willing me to finish it.  I struggled to stay seated and attempted to look away, grabbing my Smithsonian magazine in a desperate attempt to find the cover article “Man on the Moon” more interesting than noshing on the remaining French delicacy.  I held myself in check for about 30 seconds and then, without a shred of self-control or shame, I enjoyed the other half of the croissant, assuaging my guilt by reminding myself that Ben is focused on his physique much more than I and probably wouldn’t want to eat the croissant anyway.  It worked.  Guilt was gone, y’all, and the croissant was devoured.

                When Ben came home, after more than an hour of swimming, looking all fit and trim, he was completely unaware that I had planned on saving him some of the croissant but hadn’t.  He asked for, and I made him, oatmeal with blueberries, which he consumed happily and heartily.  I sat across from him, self-satisfied and smiling, basking in the knowledge that I had literally (almost) sacrificed for him. I’m a good person, y’all.  Truly.