Foreign-Born

   

    While this past month has been overwhelmingly positive, being a foreigner in Germany can be exhausting. Before I leave my apartment each day, I mentally prepare myself to communicate in my non-native language and sometimes practice phrases I might need. I always order food and buy groceries in German, but sometimes, if people realize I'm not a native speaker, they will switch to English and won't switch back, even if I continue to ask questions and respond in (imperfect) German. On the other hand, when someone says something I don't understand, especially if it's a question that requires a quick response, I feel embarrassed and incompetent. It takes significant mental energy to operate in a language besides your mother tongue, so I feel guilty for not being more proficient when speaking with colleagues or my German friends. If it's tiring for me to speak German, it must be tiring for them to speak English with me, so I either criticize myself for not being closer to fluent or I don't speak if I can't find a way to express my thoughts in German.

    On Monday October 3rd, I was sitting in the laundry room with my earbuds in, zoned out and minding my own business. Suddenly, I felt a tap on my shoulder and met eyes with a woman around my age rapidly speaking German. After mentally returning to this reality, I quickly understood she was having a problem with her dryer, so I followed her to it, still a bit discombobulated. I realized that the start button was so bent inwards from overuse that it wouldn't work, no matter how hard she pressed it. She also explained that she had already paid for this dryer and the other one was broken, so she couldn't move her clothes. My head felt frazzled, so I listened, nodded, and understood, but didn't respond. Finally, she pushed hard enough on the button that it managed to start, and we both breathed a sigh of relief and chuckled. She began to ask me another question that I cannot remember, and when I started to respond, she interrupted me and said, "Oh, you speak English?" "Yeah," I replied. Within the next minute, she had left the laundromat, clothes still tumbling. The shift from her friendly, talkative nature to suddenly cutting me off and leaving seemed abrupt, but the change probably came from her realizing a conversation with a stranger in the laundromat might not be as easy anymore.

    After touring the Würzburg Residenz, I took a stroll around the surrounding gardens. Inside the Residenz, photography was forbidden, so I wanted to capture at least one photo from the outside to remember the experience. I found a spot by a fountain with a nice view of the building, but quickly noticed I seemed to be the only person standing alone. I felt awkward and anxious amongst the large groups, families, and couples, until I finally worked up the courage to politely ask one of the men if he would take my picture. He looked at me and flatly said, "American or English?" A bit stunned, I sheepishly said, "American." He then accepted my phone and took my picture. When I thanked him afterwards, he said nothing. Now when I look at the photo, instead of recalling the art, the beauty, and the wonder I felt during the tour, all I can think about is how my stomach was twisting itself into a knot with shame. Why was that the only thing he said to me? I wish I hadn't asked him, why didn't I approach someone else? Why did it matter that I'm a foreigner? Why does it matter so much?

    If I'm just ordering a pizza, is it necessary for the shopkeeper to ask where I'm from and what I'm doing in Germany? It may be small talk, but it can also be grating. When an integral part of your identity is different from most people around you, and that difference is repeatedly noticed and highlighted, you might feel ostracized. "Where are you from?" begins to sound like "You're not from here," or "Why are you here?" or "You're not supposed to be here," or your fears even exacerbate it into "You don't belong here." I recognize that as a white English-speaker living in a predominantly European area who knows some German and is actively working to improve it, who also has significantly passport privilege and decent financial security, in many ways, I am playing life on easy mode. I have so much empathy for everyone else who experiences this at a much harsher level, and I can only imagine what it's like.

    Maybe the man I approached was just tired. Maybe the girl at the laundromat just had somewhere to go. Maybe nobody ever means any harm, but I do miss when nobody asked.