Istraživanja pokazuju da postoji veza između materinjeg jezika i emocija. To je jezik koji prvi učimo i kojim počinjemo razmišljati o svijetu, jezik kroz koji prvi put doživljavamo i najveće uspjehe i najneugodnije poraze. Zbog toga su osjećaji izraženi na materinjem jeziku snažniji nego oni izraženi na stranom jeziku. Psovke imaju jači učinak. Tabui su uznemirujući. Neugodni događaji izazivaju više srama. Budući da emocije učimo na materinjem jeziku, veze između emocionalnog iskustva i riječi koje koristimo kako bismo ih opisali vrlo su snažne.
S druge strane, kada govorimo na drugom jeziku, manje smo pogođeni emocionalnom težinom riječi, što nam olakšava da zadržimo pribranost. Studije pokazuju da razmišljanje na stranom jeziku dovodi do objektivnijeg zaključivanja i manje pristranosti u donošenju odluka.
dr. sc. Ethan Kross, “Shift”
Ima nečeg u ovome. Ponekad me neki prizori ili doživljaji toliko preplave da mi nekako lakše dođe to izraziti na sveprisutnom engleskom… Tako je to bilo i prije koju godinu, na kraju “indijanskoga ljeta”. Sinulo mi je to danas, 29. kolovoza, dok slušam kišu kako lupka po krovu. Kao da je taj najljepši dan jeseni već iza nas i sve je utonulo u sivilo. Prognoza obećava još sunca, ali nema više onih stabilnih ljeta, jeseni, zima niti proljeća, sve se stopilo u ovaj kaos koji zovu “klimatske promjene”. Zato se rado sjetim tog jednog savršenog dana jeseni. I ne, nisam ni na engleskom nešto osobito objektivna i distancirana. Sorry, dr. sc. Ethane.
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There is this one final, most beautiful day of autumn. All the colours of life, every remembrance, all the gold we have yearned for, and the silver threads of memories, merge into this one day. The leaves gently dance on the soft breeze, rustling to remind me of a life I most certainly lived — they say, in this very lifetime — yet today it feels so unreal, so strange. Everything carries a scent of something special, something different, perhaps the smell of biscuits I am about to bake, as Advent draws near.
And perhaps it is the scent of youth bidding its farewell. It lingers, reluctant to leave, afraid of silver strands of hair, wishing to restore the golden glow they once held. It fears winter, fears ageing, fears the darkness and those long, black nights. It trembles like a child afraid of falling asleep, believing it may never wake again. Youth, like a child, does not understand that after sleep comes waking — waking into a new day, a new life, a new spring.
This day of autumn is the most beautiful, golden, a day we have always longed to carry with us, wherever we go. We wish to keep it, so it may shine through the darkest times.
Do not fear. Spring always returns.
Summer embraces with a passionate hug, Indian summer writes poetry, and then, suddenly, comes this one last, perfect day of autumn…
It feels like the presence of something far greater, something beyond our grasp, confined as we are to the dimensions of our worry-bound lives.
For a moment, it seems as though God walks softly through the rustling leaves.
This is that perfect autumn day, poised on the verge of the transition from Indian summer into the short, windy days ahead.
Such was the day when I realised that life is so much more than what I have given myself so far.