Sitting in my living room, vaguely reminiscent of a refrigerator which someone has decorated with a blinking multi colored Christmas tree, with a furry Tibetan apron tied around my waist for warmth, I touch my icy hands to my tender and chapped nose and think about yesterday.
Yesterday, a day heralded by the sure signs of yet another cold at hand, I battled the dizziness induced by twenty speaking exams and the slow progression of my cold, dragged myself shivering from the sunbeam where I had napped, donned two coats, grabbed an extra pack of sand paper-esque tissues, and went to my weekly Tibetan speaking practice time with my dear friend.
A decision which would change the course of my language learning forever.
She was in a strange mood, a story that I didn't catch all of but which might have included something which blew up at the cafe she managed. I was tired. We walked to a small tea house nestled in a corner of some alley not too far off the main road and I ordered tea while she went down the street to use the public restroom. Shortly upon her return, another friend joined us, the tea and bowls of soupy noodles also arrived...
Perhaps it was the warmth of the tea and noodles sloshing around in my empty stomach, or the riotously poor pronunciation of her friend, or the endless line of beggars singing and playing songs for us (one whom I recognized from an embarrassing experience a few weeks earlier), or the new Tibetan proverb I had recently learned: tzeekba gapbe pungoo the donkey wears leopard clothes... my exhaustion had reached the far more amusing stage of just plain silly.
Just plain silly: the unique moment when the elements align so as to produce unwarranted boldness and a gracious audience.
Things in Tibetan were just coming out of my mouth: what color is this? What color is my hair? Yellow? Yellow no way! My hair is the same color as the table or the earth or the tea. Why do you tell lies? I don't believe you. Everyday I work, everyday I teach. Because I need money. I always don't work I will become beggar. No money. I always eat so many noodles and drink so much tea I will become pig. Pig wears girl clothes... The man sitting at the neighboring table merrily munched his spicy potatoes and chuckled endlessly, the two ladies in one corner peered around my friend's back and made no effort to hide their amusement, the young girls wearing stained blue aprons giggled brightly, and at the beggar comment I think I saw some tea come out of a grandmother's nose as she burst out laughing.
So this is how you speak Tibetan.
I had to catch a bus in time for another meeting back at my school, bidding the tea house farewell I dashed off to catch a bus numbered 503. There were two at the corner and I wheezily caught up to the first one only to step off again as it was standing room only. A quick turn around and I hopped on the second one, to the amusement of the bus cashier to whom I muttered, also in Tibetan, that one has too many people. At the next stop a Tibetan teacher from our school took the seat behind me and our conversation progressed in halting English and Tibetan. A small primary school girl named Nawang tsomo also joined into the fun. After comparing textbooks with Nawang tsomo, we both sharing the same level book to my shame and her joy, in a flash of inspiration I exclaim in Tibetan: English language is so easy but Tibetan language...ahmo! It's so difficult! A comment which was greeted with grins and laugher bus wide and which garnered the reply: You are an American girl so English is easy and Tibetan is difficult. We are Tibetan so Tibetan is easy and English is difficult. My rdje rdje of affirmation almost cost a nearby cyclist his life owning to the driver's mirthful distraction. The bus atmosphere was familial as the conversation turned to how long I had been in Lhasa, what I was doing here, and oh wait this is my stop.
So this is what it means to communicate in Tibetan.
I disembarked from the bus and shook my head in disbelief. Wasn't only a year ago when the only words I knew were teacher, candy, and dangerous? Or even less than that? And now here I am with enough language ability to make people laugh with, and no longer at, me...
It's not enough, but it's a start, and motivation to continue.
