What I love about languages is that youâre never really done learning them.
Iâve been living and breathing in Italian from the moment I could talk and even long before that, and nevertheless a word yet to be discovered in a book somebody lent me still has the power to mesmerize me. I still find myself staring at the page, sounding out the term, trying to gauge whether Iâm placing the stress on the right syllable.
I started learning English so early on in my life that I donât even remember a time when such words as âhelloâ, âfriendâ, or âageâ didnât make sense to me. Simple words, small blocks to build solid foundations with. A brick house turning into a palace turning into a lighthouse, from which to gaze at your newly expanded horizon. A whole world unfolding before you, unlocked by a set of sounds and letters slowly becoming clearer and clearer. And yet I still mix up my prepositions. The fact that Iâm now able to enjoy complex novels in French doesnât mean that someoneâs rapping skills wonât leave me dumbfounded. Boludo and posta may be familiar concepts to me now; which doesnât stop me from being completely puzzled by Spanish slang.
Some might find this frustrating, but I think the endless learning potential is what really makes languages fascinating. Theyâre like old friends that youâll get to know better as the years go by, and that will never cease to surprise you anyway.






















