I have always been told that I’m good at languages.
I’m not sure exactly what that means, but hey – it’s something I’m good at – I’ll take it.
I took a couple of years of Spanish in high school, four semesters of Latin in undergrad, and three semesters of German in grad school. Of course, I still have all the books.
I’ve also added to them. I will often buy books in one of the languages I’ve taken to practice my skills. I will also purchase books in languages I have absolutely no training in, because I like the title (In Praise of Yiddish) or because I recently read a book (by Murakami) and thought, “That was a nice paragraph. I bet that was beautiful in its original language” (and thus had to buy a book of Japanese phrases). I have several books on Portuguese because I want to travel someday to Brazil, and I am trying to learn Italian (and they said the Latin was a waste of time!) because I not only want to travel there but also because I found a cookbook that I need to read.
I’m obsessed with Duolingo.
I know that I will probably only become marginally proficient (I can ask for the bathroom and order coffee in at least five languages), but it’s a fun pursuit.
I’m writing 31 Days of Shelfies.
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