Can't leave them behind

French and German and I go waaay back. I had my first French lessons in 3rd grade, when I was still half-homeschooling. I remember struggling to pronounce the date each day: the 1990s were not a good time to start learning! ("1994" alone is 8 syllables.) German started at birth, with my mom trying to alternate between English and German days. It worked great for a year or two, especially since we spent 9 months in Germany before I turned 2. After that, my German was reduced to foods, colors, and random phrases like "straight ahead." Anyhow, by 10th grade, I was in level 3 in both languages, and continued to level 5 by graduation.

I always felt enthusiastic about learning languages in general, as opposed to French and German in particular. In fact, while I felt an affinity for all things German due to my family's connections there, I was apathetic toward France for years. I enrolled at Penn State in the education program for both languages, not intending to spend my life as a French teacher, but supposing that proficiency in three languages would serve me well wherever I went after graduation. I wanted to teach SOMEthing (maybe ESL?) and I was good at those. My decision seemed pragmatic, not passionate.

What changed my mind was my semester in France in 2007. Once France became a real place in my mind, not just the site of castles and cafes and catwalks, I found an affection for it. Finally, French people weren't the little cartoons in my textbooks - they were my host family and classmates and conversation partners. What helped most of all was how different we were: that I had to struggle to relate to them, rather than them being "just like me" but in another language. That struggle helped me define my identity in a deeper way.

Now I finally have a chance to fulfill a dream I've had since college: to learn Cambodia's Khmer language. (Albeit very slowly...new teachers are busy!) I thought I'd be content to throw myself into it and abandon further pursuit of French and German. Instead, I find myself wistful when I hear snippets at the grocery store, fumbling in my head to find words to initiate a conversation. Speakers are abundant in this city full of NGOs, but I'm rarely in their part of town with time to kill, and I don't know any personally. Thus, the Bible and an occasional DVD or online article are now my main sources of foreign-language sustenance. Better than nothing, but I'm missing the conversation component.

In French class last week, I realized I'd forgotten some common everyday words, like closet and pillow - words I never needed in college courses. At the French Cultural Center bookstore, I made mistakes in my chat with the cashier that I've successfully avoided for years. I was rusty, to say the least. I know I'm forgetting German much faster: even after years of study, it's still "use it or lose it." At this point, I could still easily regain fluency if I spent a month immersed in either, but that part of my knowledge is being buried deeper and deeper. I thought I was OK with not using it. I never realized losing my adopted languages would feel like losing part of myself.