Fluency
I’m not exactly sure when I started studying Japanese—I think about six or seven years ago, now—but I remember why. After a childhood in which I continually lamented the slow release of Pokémon games in English (there was no global same-day release back then!), it was my interest in Japanese literature that finally made me start studying. In college, I’d fallen out of anime and even video games (both of which I’ve found my way back to in recent years), but gotten way into Japanese novels: Murakami Haruki, of course, but also Kawakami Mieko, Yoshimoto Banana, and more.
I remember seeing the announcement for the book that would be translated as Killing Commendatore (which would place this in mid-2017—7 years ago) and thinking I couldn’t bear to wait a year to read it. Maybe if I started studying, I could get close by the time it would’ve released in English anyways. Boy, my hubris sure was out of control, but it’s lead me on what’s been an extremely fulfilling journey. From Duolingo to real textbooks, classes in-person and online, and interactions with Japanese people, culture, and language in a variety of contexts over the years, it’s been quite the trek, the goal of which still extends to the horizon. I’m still just seeing the contours of all I don’t know in it.
When I tell people I study Japanese, speak the language, read Japanese books, they often ask if I’m fluent. I’m pretty good, I like to say. If you want to chat about daily life, or one of my hobbies, I’m confident in my ability to have a conversation. The more I’ve learned about Japanese and language learning in general, the more I’ve realized I’m not quite sure what fluency means. It seems to imply native-level abilities in a language; but in such a complex skill, how would you even go about measuring this? How much do native speakers even know? I’ve always thought of fluency as a certain intuitiveness, an immediacy to the language, where one doesn’t have to think about something being in "another" language: it’s just accessible to them in a way beyond this conscious friction. I can now work my way through many things I want to in Japanese, but I’m still painfully aware of the gap between myself and the words. I’m well past the point of internally translating things to English—I can take them for what they are in Japanese, and often Japanese words or understandings come to me before the same ideas in English—but there’s an effort necessary that I don’t feel in English. So I’m pretty good; not fluent.
Still, it comes and goes in waves. I do two classes a week now, one a group lesson, and one-on-one private lessons, and there are days with both where I feel at times more capable and less. Sometimes I can hit a groove, and feel like I’m conveying my thoughts exactly as I want to, smoothly, with no distance between the ideal and reality. Other times, I can feel myself messing up, realizing I don’t know a pivotal word, or simply unable to express myself in a way that feels competent. But the more I’ve learned, the more I’ve appreciated that trying to convey your thoughts is the thing that matters most; errors be damned. I think one of the most important skills you can learn is how to explain something, finding ways to talk around what you want to say, or at least pass along the general idea, even if the ideal way remains elusive. Native speakers make mistakes all the time, too. We say things that are ungrammatical, pronounce things in ways you won’t find in a textbook, and lean on cultural understandings that are difficult to outsiders.
Last week, I did my first ever gig as a Japanese language interpreter. I’m certainly not so overconfident to have sought out the role, but it fell into my lap. I needed the money, and I thought if I messed it up too badly, at least few would be able to tell. And honestly, I wanted to test myself. I’ve never even been to Japan. I’ve got no formal certifications on my language ability. My opportunities to speak to native speakers is few and far between. I wanted to know, could I hack it? All told, I think I did pretty good.
I spent three days with three Osakans, whose English abilities ranged from pretty good to non-existent. I did okay at times, and struggled at others. One time an interviewer came by, and wanted to know if any of them had a “hot take”; talk about a difficult concept to explain to the terminally-conformist Japanese! I was lucky they were all so gracious, generous, and kind. It’s true what they say: Osakans are quick to smile, just like me. I learned tons: new words, new cultural concepts. It was stressful, tiring work; but it was fun. Like so much of my experience interacting with Japanese, it made me want to forge ahead even stronger, fill in the gaps with greater precision, and improve my understanding as best as I could.
It’s been a long seven years, and I’m sure it’ll be a long seven more. I’ve made huge strides in my language ability, but there’s still so much to go. Don’t trust anyone who says you can’t learn a language in your 20s or beyond. It’s not easy, but not much worth doing is. One day, I’m gonna become truly fluent, whatever that means. For now, I’m happy I’m pretty good.
