语言 - Language

“The limits of my language mean the limits of my world”

  —Ludwig Wittgenstein 

维特根斯坦的书里，这一句让我这个从小好像语言就很有天赋的人很能产生共鸣。 小时候学英语的时候， 觉得最终的目的地是能够和外国人沟通，但真的等到算是掌握这门技能了以后， 才发现， “能和外国人沟通” 是最微不足道的收获。 

我记事起好像就在有在学英文， 但是我清楚记得是到了英国很多年以后， 某个罕见的阳关明媚的下午， 我和W坐在出租车里， 我一边望向车外一边在想着一个投资项目。 突然之间意识到我对整件事情在脑中的思考，是以英文进行的， 我立马转头对W说 “I just thought in English for the first time ever ”， 虽然他并不会第二门语言， 但是他很共情我对此事的惊讶。就好像，我突然之间拥有了一种超能力。 

还有一件事让我觉得语言是有魔力的： 《真爱至上》算是英语世界的经典贺岁片了， 在我大一的时候， 我带着十万分的期待，开启中英文字幕，精神抖擞的从头看到尾。那时候， 我的英文不算差， 但是绝对算不上流利。看完整部片子， 我每个单词每句话好像都懂， 但觉得无聊透顶。 好多年之后，某一个圣诞前夕， 我和W在维也纳度假，在酒店里胡乱遥控着电视的时候， 这部片子跳了出来， W随口问我是否有看过， 我说大一的时候看过， 好难看， W从床上跳起来说， “怎么可能？” 他都没等我回复，就按下了播放键， 结果我从头笑到尾， 看完了还意犹未尽。 也许根据维特根斯坦的理论， 我的世界，随着我的语言能力的上升， 扩大了那么一些， 至少扩大到了可以让我又彻底看懂一部电影。 

但我自认为我对语言谈不上热爱。 我不执念于咬文嚼字， 也从未想要探索过语言的来历及演变。 我欣赏中文里好的文笔， 尤其是歌词中美好的意境， 但也从没有为此坚持诵读过唐诗宋词。 大学报考专业的时候， 我有考虑过语言学，会英文之后也考虑过做翻译， 但最终还是被不那么学术的传播学所吸引， 工作也进入了商业世界， 从事的角色永远和我的双语能力有关。 

或许可以说， 我是一个实用主义者。  我能够欣赏美， 感知美， 但绝无创造美的自信。 也许这可以解释为什么我总希望再掌握一门外语， 因为我知道，它终归是有用的，在学习的过程中， 我也能够感受愉悦。 

我对自己中文英文的水平自我评价是很矛盾的。 一方面，我极其自信， 我能够熟练的， 在我需要的场合， 对两种语言都运用自如；但另一方面， 我又觉得自己离饱读诗书还差得很远， 哪怕只是在网络上发表一些文字， 都会有不配感。 

这样一来， 如果我还想要在语言应用上有更多的突破， 那我就需要去钻研更深，提升更高。 比如去学习如何教授这两门语言，毕竟根据著名的费曼学习法， 只有当你能够说清楚一件事的时候， 才代表着你真正的理解了。 这样也总会促使着我自己在这两门语言上去不断的学习吧。 不过， 难到想要教学的初衷不应该是想要帮助学生掌握新的技能才对吗？为什么我说了这么多理由， 却全然不提我需要教授的对象？这样一来，我又想要打退堂鼓了。 

看来这是一个一时半会想不通的课题， 那就只好先开始进攻西班牙语A2的旅程， 把 TEFL和CTCSOL都暂且放在parking lot, 等待下回分解吧。 

“The limits of my language mean the limits of my world.”— Ludwig Wittgenstein

In Wittgenstein’s book, this line really resonates with me—someone who, ever since childhood, seemed to have a natural flair for languages. When I was little and learning English, I thought the ultimate goal was simply to chat with foreigners. But only after I’d “mastered” the skill did I realize that being able to talk to native speakers was the most trivial reward of all.

I’ve been studying English for as long as I can remember, but I vividly recall one rare, sunlit afternoon many years after moving to the U.K. W and I were in a taxi—me staring out the window while mentally running through an investment pitch—when I suddenly realized that I was thinking the whole thing in English. I whipped around and said, “I just thought in English for the first time ever!” He doesn’t speak a second language himself, but he totally got how gobsmacked I was. It felt like I’d unlocked some superpower.

Here’s another moment that convinced me language really is magic: Love Actually is the classic Christmas movie of the English-speaking world. In my first year at university, I watched it with both subtitles on, brimming with anticipation. Back then, my English wasn’t terrible, but I certainly wasn’t fluent. By the end, I felt I’d understood every single line—yet I found it excruciatingly dull. Fast forward a few years to a Christmas Eve in Vienna: W and I were fiddling with the hotel remote when Love Actually popped up again. He casually asked if I’d seen it before. I shrugged, “Yeah, back in first year. It was so bad.” Before I could elaborate, he hit play—and I ended up laughing from start to finish, craving more when the credits rolled. According to Wittgenstein’s theory, as my language skills expanded, so did my world—at least enough that I could finally “get” a whole movie.

That said, I wouldn’t call myself a language enthusiast. I don’t dissect every word or yearn to trace language’s origins and evolution. I appreciate beautiful writing in Chinese—especially the imagery in song lyrics—but I’ve never been one to faithfully recite Tang or Song dynasty poetry. When choosing my university major, I considered linguistics, and after learning English I toyed with becoming a translator. In the end, I was drawn to the less-academic field of Communications, and my career has always revolved around putting my bilingual skills to practical use.

Perhaps you could say I’m a pragmatist: I can appreciate beauty and sense it, but I lack the confidence to create it myself. Maybe that’s why I keep wanting to learn another foreign language—because I know it will be useful, and the process itself brings me joy.

My self-assessment of my Chinese and English abilities is full of contradictions. On one hand, I’m supremely confident—able to switch effortlessly between the two whenever I need to. On the other, I feel light-years away from being truly well-read; even posting something online makes me worry I’m not good enough.

So if I want to push my language boundaries further, I need to dive deeper and aim higher. For example, I could study how to teach both languages—after all, the famous Feynman Technique says you only truly understand something once you can teach it clearly. That would keep me on my toes, constantly learning in both English and Chinese.

…But wait—shouldn’t the real reason for teaching be to help students learn? Why have I gone on and on without even mentioning who I’d be teaching? Now I’m getting cold feet again.

Looks like that’s a puzzle for another day. For now, I’ll start my quest toward Spanish A2, and park TEFL and CTCSOL for the moment—ready to tackle them another time.