Transitioning… Happening, without me even realizing.

The though tonight surfaced when considering the origin of the headache that bothered me all this evening. I have known this headache for a few years already; it happens every now and then, the pain creates each time a sensation of déjà-vu without clear hints as to its precise causes.

Until today, where the dots were connected very blatantly. I had initiated today several interleaved conversations simultaneously in more than two languages, two of them being very intensive and conceptually complex.

Wait. The sheer intricacy of this statement sounds sufficient to warrant a headache, right?

Well, actually not. The complexity of the conversations per se was not relevant; nor was the multiplicity of languages nor their simultaneousness. Indeed, part of my daily work is dedicated to long work-related, technical and complex conversations in two different languages (not counting those I use with my computers), often alternating between both at short intervals, and without any subsequent pain nor second thought. I enjoy this situation greatly; it brings me both joy and fulfillment. It is part of my life, to the extent that these languages are also those I use daily with friends and family for social and personal interactions.

No, the headache only appears in this very specific situation when I start to use my native tongue during the day — next to the two others. This ability I am carrying around, learned at a young age, is hurting me whenever I exercise it in my new world. Unsurprisingly, I also no realize I am starting to avoid it altogether for this very reason — often unconsciously, and yet…

Last week-end I realized that several grammar forms that were once as natural as breathing are now eluding me. Understanding is still effortless, but the communication becomes straining. When compounded with my normal daily interactions, the effort becomes painful and causes the dreaded headaches.

I am slowly and deliberately ruining — in the literal, etymological sense: think about the crumbling stones of an old castle — my relationship with the first language I ever learned.

Some of my medium- and long-term plans already included taking on Swedish and Frisian classes. Now, I am seriously considering inserting German into the list as well, because it is the social norm where I live. This may require some additional sacrifice, too.

And yet I don't care. Actually, it feels great. I prefer my new tongues anyways.

I am getting seriously annoyed by this question.

Not because it is somewhat intimate and still part of the social handshake, just between “what's your name?” and “what do you do?”. The latter got me annoyed before but I learned how to cope with it already.

No, the reason why I am getting annoyed is that most people who ask do not realize what they are asking for. Indeed, what most people want to know, for the purpose of getting to know someone better, is a condensate of the following:

• “ where and how have you been educated? ” — i.e. how much do you share my culture;
• “ what is your ethnicity? ” — i.e. what ethnic label can I stick on you;
• “ what is your religion? ” — i.e. what is your moral code;
• “ what is your home? ” — i.e. where do you live and where does your family live;
• “ who are your friends? ” — i.e. what are your credentials in life.

The place of birth, often expected as an answer to the question, is generally irrelevant. Most often you are not actually interested because it does not help knowing the person better. So stop asking for it first! There are many other interesting — and important — aspects to learn about someone before their childhood history. To start a conversation, just keep it simple and honest — “ tell me about you ” is open enough.

Side note: I am also annoyed at Facebook for translating "Hometown" by "Place of birth" in Dutch. This is annoying in so many ways and does not even reflect any social reality in the Netherlands.

An interesting feature of several languages is the impact of negation on the meaning of verbs.

Technically, a negation makes true things false, and vice-versa. This is different from a change in meaning.

More specifically: many verbs reflects concepts that can be put on a scale of meaning, ranging from a meaning to its opposite going through the absence of meaning. Compare:

• to feel cold
• to not feel cold
• to feel warm

Or a single verb:

• to swallow
• to not swallow
• to regurgitate

As exemplified here, negation does not (and technically should not) imply opposition. The truth value of an action or a description (or any other kind of verb) is about whether the positive meaning of the verb is asserted, or not. From a grammar standpoint, the opposite value of the verb is not summoned by the use of negation.

That said, several verbs are often assumed to have their meaning changed to their opposite when negated. Or, rather, the absence of another verb with the opposite meaning invites the use of negation to express that opposite meaning. This is unfortunate, as such uses of negation introduce ambiguity about what is the intended meaning of the resulting construct. Compare:

• to like: I like potatoes
• to not like: I do not like potatoes

The latter case is often understood (and intended to be understood) as a rejection, whereas technically it should merely mean absence of interest. Two scales of understanding are thus possible:

• to like - to not like (lack of approval) - to dislike (aversion, antipathy)

or

• to like - ??? (lack of approval) - to not like / to dislike (aversion, antipathy)

Incidentally, "dislike" is often understood to have two possible meanings, reflecting this ambiguity from the other side of the scale; as per Onelook

dislike

a feeling of aversion or antipathy

dislike

an inclination to withhold approval from some person or group

In the case of like / dislike, a lengthy and wordy construct is sometimes used to clarify the position on the scale: “I do not like potatoes, but I don't dislike them either,” or “I do not like potatoes, I mean, I would rather not have them.”

Now, as clear as this idea of a scale of meaning is — from an asserted meaning to its opposite, going through its negated truth value — there are some verbs where the distinction is much less clear. For a few examples, most language users (in several languages, not only English) often do not distinguish negation and opposites. To illustrate the point, take the verb "want" as a case study:

• “I want to love you”
• “I do not want to love you”

In the latter sentence, what is the intended meaning? Technically, the negation changes the truth value, and should only remove the "intention" carried by the verb. However, in this archetypical example the most common use is to carry the opposite meaning: “I want to not love you.”

On the same line of thought, which of the following are intended to carry opposites, and which are merely negated?

• I do not like chocolate
• I do not like my mother
• I am not happy
• I am not unhappy

(Language is tricky. Semantics are even worse.)

Any suggestion for additional "tricky negations" is welcome!

Here is an exercise for the linguistically-inclined — try to find in your native language a single word that carries the following meanings:

• menen: to give one's opinion about something (ik meen dat dit waar is = I give my opinion that this is true)
• opvallen: to make oneself easily noticeable (deze student valt niet op = this student does not make himself easily noticeable)

The broader topic being: what does it mean for you when you cannot find a simple construct in your native language for something that has a basic lexeme (word) as semantic root in another language?

1. surprise, curiousity: “oh, you can speak Dutch? How nice!” Hidden meaning: it's surprising; unusual for foreigners to be interested in our language; but I really can't understand a word of what you're saying.
2. condescension: replying in English. Hidden meaning: ok, you've shown you can make yourself understood, now stop annoying us with your broken grammar and unusual vocabulary, let's switch back to English please!
3. tolerance: “ik vind je franse accent écht mooi!” Hidden meaning: we can communicate well, but remember that you're still a foreigner.

What's next?

• fact: an Italian word spelled “ciao” is used in many latin-based languages in Europe with a similar meaning. It is used as an interjection when people part, or as a sign of surprise.
• fact: in several European languages other than Italian, this word is actually used in writing by speakers, and spelled differently than in Italian — often localized to make the spelling match the pronunciation rules of the language.
• Linguistically, the fact that people decide to change the spelling of a foreign word, despite widely distributed knowledge of its original spelling, can be interpreted as a takeover: the word is transformed so that it "belongs" more to the local language, so that it "looks" less foreign than it actually is. This effectively hides its origin: for instance, while “ciao” can morphologically be recognized as Italian, the French version “tchô” cannot.
• Incidentally, one effect of this takeover by several languages in Europe is the multiplication of the number of different words used to express the same cognate (basic meaning).
• fact: this word is not part of the dictionaries for the languages where it is used (other than Italian), or its official spelling is the Italian spelling.

Hence some interesting questions:

• do you recognize the word “ciao” when you see it written using this Italian spelling?
• how many different spellings do you know for it?
• which spelling would you teach to (say) a child who learns the word for the first time? Why?

Do you think these questions are important? Why?

In America, people buy stuff in “stores.” Over here, they buy stuff in “shops.”

In America, people find the word “shop” old fashioned. They expect it to designate a small and cramped place where goods are not on display in large quantities.

Now, if we look at three hundred years ago, when people in America had just settled and were still essentially speaking the same language as in England:

• “storehouses” were places where goods were placed to keep for a long time, before they were sold.
• when they were to be sold, they were moved to “shops” and put on display for customers.

And then, gradually, cultural changes made it more convenient for customers in America to go and buy their stuff directly from the shelves of the storehouse — there there was no aesthetic in the display, but goods were available in large quantities.

This has not happened over here, so there we are linguistically.

A kōan (公案) is a story, dialogue, question, generally containing aspects that are inaccessible to rational understanding, yet that may be accessible to intuition.

Sometimes kōans appear out of nowhere, and I was today witness to a beautiful one:

(20:32) <@kena> sylvain_: c'est quoi l'art pour toi ?
(20:57) < sylvain> je suis inculte, nul, con et moche, et tu me
         poses cette question ?
(21:04) <@kena> tu dois avoir une opinion non ?
(21:43) < sylvain> je sais pas
(21:43) < sylvain> les filles me détestent totues
(21:43) < sylvain> j'en ai marre
(21:43) <@kena> ça répond pas vraiment à la question
(21:43) <@kena> je sais pas moi 
(21:43) <@kena> invente un truc
(21:44) < sylvain> faut que je trouve des choess à photographier.

Thanks, Sylvain.

The following is a quote from a semi-official Usenet newsgroup for the French institution EPITECH where current and soon-to-be students can meet and discuss their past and future education in computer science:

moi chui pa un intelektuel mer g ete pri fo just avoir la motiv couz. moi jveu savoir c ki kisera dan ma class et si ya moy kon se voi avan la rentrer. au fet jven un psp ki li ler jeu graver.

A translation of this text in “traditional” French would read as follows: « moi, je ne suis pas un intellectuel mais j'ai été pris; il faut juste avoir de la motivation, cousin. Moi, je veux savoir qui sera dans ma classe et s'il y a moyen qu'on se voie avant la rentrée. Au fait, je vends une PSP qui lit les jeux gravés. »

Regardless of the content, which is of little value outside of the specific milieu where this quote belongs, I find it striking how the new French differs from the language of the “litterature.”

There are two interesting facts to be observed here:

• to my knowledge, most youngsters below 20 of age nowadays use this new form of the language when they type on keyboards;
• as time passes, without major cultural transformations we will see more and more language corpus generated with keyboards.

Combining these facts, I would expect that in little more than 10 years we will see French being gradually replaced and/or transformed for many uses, including business, services, education, information, correspondence and all places where the corpus is not intended to be archived. This will result in a cultural shift where two languages will be in use : classical French for literature, law, treaties and such other items of historical interest, and colloquial French for all the rest, radically different and more closely matching the spoken language.

For my part, I will be practicing the new style for the coming years. I intend to be able to mold into the new generation and not be left behind.