Heritage Issues

“I have heritage issues” – that is how I describe my really weird relationship to my mother tongue German.

I like words (obviously). I like word wit, metaphors and how the world itself is constructed through them. In that regard, I have always loved the possibilities the German language offers.

When I moved overseas, though, I consciously left that language behind “to integrate myself”. I took pains to ensure my accent, albeit always noticeable, is never really distinguishable as German, and I was perversely proud of the success I had in that. 

Within the span of a year, words started to disappear and half my sentences came out in English. Once in a while my folks would even get a little angry with me, accusing me of not putting in enough effort or doing it on purpose.

I didn’t. Not really. 

After starting my here journey, I did realise that there is some connection between the way I had thought I needed to be and my mother tongue. There were certain things I could neither say nor hear in German without cringing. So I started calling it heritage issues, but I was quite content to let that one lie, for it to reveal itself. Watching the frequency of English half sentences steadily declined since then, I thought it had worked itself out.

Well, it hasn’t. How could it, I hadn’t faced it, had I?

I wanted to reconnect to an old friend back home that I have always felt was particularly dear to me, but due to my steel capped feet I could a) never tell him that, b) wasn’t quite aware of how much I missed him, and c) didn’t keep up more that a tenuous connection. 

I wanted to tell him that, all of it and reach out. And whilst these words flow in English, I could not word a message in German. Not to save my life. So halfway through the text I admitted to the undefined heritage issues and switched to English. And then I composed a lovely, flowery sentence referencing the red thread of connection and that I wish to take better care of ours. It was a beautiful sentence.

He is a lovely man, and replied so quickly it had me almost scared. But he did have a meeting and only later, when I was blissfully asleep, he wrote back with more detail and asked what the red thread means.

So there I was the next day, composing a reply, explaining the reference and it hit me like a ton of bricks: that lovely flowery sentence was really quite cowardly. If I wanted to have an actual, honest connection, I would have to be more direct, not hide behind flowers of words. I would have to face my trepidations of maybe being turned away head on, because that is the only way it works, right? 

Inspired by that sudden awareness, I started to write that, in German: “I could have just said that I know that I have a shit record of keeping in touch – I really want to change that. Also – even though 10 years have passed, you still feel so dear to me, I miss you and I really want to treat that connection better.”

I didn’t get past the first sentence. I worded and re-worded but there was no way to construct it in a way that would not make me stop halfway through, make me cringe, make me feel unbelievably uncomfortable and ready to run. In short, I felt vulnerable, very much so, and it scared the living daylight out of me. 

I had thought with my work on the love letters I had left the confines of not allowing myself to express my feelings, so to humor myself I tried it in English – and it worked! I could write the above, no problem. I could feel the trepidation, I could feel the fear of rejection, but I felt secure in the words and could sent them.

So why? Why can I not say the exact same thing in my own language? 

I am not quite sure yet, so this is a story with no ending, a conversation without conclusion, a very confident “I don’t know”.

“Hi, ich hätte auch einfach sagen können dass ich weiss dass ich mich zu wenig melde und das tut mir leid. Es sind zwar schon 10 Jahre vergangen, aber Du fehlst mit und das hier ist mein Klopfen an der Tür”

Even after all of the thoughts above and the fact that I have actually already sent the English version to my friend – that still took me 15 minutes to write out and the idea of posting it makes me physically anxious.

So I’ll do it anyway.