Embracing Another Language
A Personal Essay
I have been in awe of the spoken and the written word for as long as I can remember.
Growing up in a German village, I had few books at my disposal, but there were plenty of opportunities to let my imagination run wild.
Lying in a meadow and staring up at the sky, I studied the fascinating movements of clouds playing games with each other. Aimlessly roaming through thick pine woods allowed me to fantasize about conquering or being rescued from hidden dangers.
I also listened with great interest to the colorful and often hilarious stories my mother and my favorite aunt tirelessly regurgitated. As war refugees from the East, these two women had fled their homeland and endured the hardships of their escape together. After eventually arriving in a remote area of the Bavarian countryside, they faced more hostilities before being able to settle down. The locals of that tightly-knit farm community were not too happy about the unwanted appearance of “strangers” in their midst.
Ironically, my mother and aunt were still capable of spinning even their more painful experiences into tales that often elicited hysterical laughter. Maybe what once seemed so cruelly unfair had gradually taken on nuances to be regarded with amusement—after the motto: “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”
In any case, these two ladies not only instilled in me a deep commitment to nurturing and protecting one’s offspring in the most difficult of situations, their vibrant storytelling kindled in me a great appreciation for entertaining communication. I even took it to the next level at a very young age. While both my mom and aunt long remained outsiders in that village—with their mannerisms and High-German speech pattern differing starkly from how the homegrown folks of that community talked and conducted themselves—I adapted instantly and seemingly absorbed the local dialect without effort. Therefore, I was easily accepted as one of them.
This first introduction into another way of life taught me early the benefits of “fitting in.”
Years later, when things had improved quite a bit for all of us, this same aunt not only indulged me with novels from her extensive book collection, she also often recited her favorite poems to me. Her enthusiasm was contagious, and it didn’t take long before I attempted to write my own verses. On my thirteenth birthday, she presented me with a diary, which I eagerly filled with the melodramatic, emotional outbursts of a budding teenager, interspersed with poetry.
In secondary school, I lauded German as my favorite academic subject (with math being somewhat of a nightmare for me). When my essays garnered praise, I devoted even more time to writing and, not surprisingly, increasingly less to math. Then, after my introduction to English and French, I determined to become a journalist.
However, in view of my parents’ dire financial situation, I ended up taking a job in a bookkeeping department—working with numbers of all things. No wonder that it didn’t take long for me to grow restless.
That’s when I made arrangements for spending a year in London, UK, to enhance my still rather rusty school English. After returning home again, I almost immediately landed a lucrative bilingual assignment that sent me for a few years to the United States, where I fell madly in love with an American. Unwilling to be without him, I promptly decided to stay—and immigrate.
Although I stepped enthusiastically into the roles of wife and mother, my reading took a major hit and my writing ambitions ground to a virtual halt, until I simply couldn’t stand my literary sabbatical any longer. However, my timid attempts to compose something sufficiently enticing and legible in the language of my new country, made me rudely aware of the fact that a simple working knowledge of English was hardly suitable for any literary endeavors.
So, gritting my teeth, I decided to enroll in college classes, which I mostly attended at night and on the weekend. It was a real challenge to tackle those academic courses in addition to running a rental business, and taking care of a household and children. Only much later, I fully realized that earning a degree in journalism and graduate credits in linguistics, combined with my numerous interactions with clients, friends, and family, inadvertently enhanced my American English. After all, practice is supposed to make perfect.
Needless to say, I was thrilled when a local newspaper finally published my report about a trip home to Germany. Little by little, I also succeeded in getting other articles, essays, short stories, and poems accepted. And then, one day, all my efforts were greatly rewarded with the release of my debut novel, “Burying Leo,” a MeToo story. Besides receiving positive reviews, the book also won second place in women’s fiction during Craft Awards’ 2018 writing contest.
Well, better late than never. I have achieved a life-long goal—albeit in a language other than my mother tongue.
Nowadays I have tons of time and leisure to read and write to my heart’s desire—and I fully intend to make the most of it.
Although once upon a time I had to give up my family, my country, my language, and a slew of ingrained habits that were so much a part of my identity, I am extremely grateful to the country I now call home—and where I was able to turn a lifelong dream into reality.
Helga Gruendler-Schierloh is a bilingual writer with a degree in
journalism and graduate credits in linguistics. Her articles, essays,
short stories, and poetry have appeared in the USA, the UK, Canada,
and South Africa. Her debut novel, Burying Leo, a Me-Too story, won
second place in women’s fiction during Pen Craft Awards’ 2018 writing
contest.
Aloka 