D uring this semester in Spain, I think I’ve perfected the vacant smile. It’s a neutral expression I hope could be perceived as engaged, entertained, sympathetic, impressed — whatever the viewer expects to see from me at a given moment in the conversation.
I smile vacantly , internally scrambling to make sense of the disjointed words I’m able to catch from the flow of dialogue. And then there’s my inevitable cringe when I realize the conversation has paused and a verbal response is expected from me.
I intensify the vacant smile and pray, yet again, for a miraculous strike of Spanish conversational intuition. Sometimes I hazard a guess. Sometimes I ask for the question to be repeated. Always, my self-consciousness flares uncomfortably.
Struggling to communicate is an entirely new experience for me. From the mediator role I played at home between my dad and teenage sister to the journalism degree I’m now pursuing, I’ve long thought of myself as a good communicator. But here in Spain, I’m uncomfortable in casual conversations. I’m uncomfortable listening to my professors’ lectures. I’m uncomfortable in my apartment talking to my Spanish flatmates.
For the first time, I’ve learned what it’s like to be unable to express myself. I know the isolation of feeling trapped inside my own head. I experience the frustration of wanting to share ideas but being afraid to try.
In addition to dousing me daily with humility, being limited in language makes a wordy person like me more appreciative of actions. My classmates know I’m not a good conversationalist in Spanish — so I am that much more grateful when someone invites me to sit with them at the campus cafe between classes. If a picture is worth a thousand words, a kind action is worth three thousand.
I’m excited to come back to the U.S. with Spanish language skills because the challenge of learning it has given me a bottomless reserve of compassion and patience for anyone who’s new in a community. Let me tell you, it’s safe to assume an immigrant or foreign exchange student is lonely. Not only are they building their social lives from scratch, but they’re probably homesick on top of that.
At a state school like UNC, the experience of a “foreigner” might as well include out-of-staters, too. So, a plea from someone on the other side: Risk your own discomfort to alleviate the discomfort of the outsiders around you. Introduce yourself to freshmen — don’t assume they’re established and comfortable after a few months . If you meet a transfer, invite her to your house party. Join a program like EASE that mentors foreign exchange students. Tutor immigrants through clubs like MANO.
I can’t guarantee that you’ll feel appreciated. You might receive nothing more than a vacant smile in return for your efforts. But I can guarantee that for the people in your life who know discomfort the way I’ve experienced it here in Spain, a little friendliness goes a long way.
