damdamin

Prior to moving to the Philippines, I spent a lot of time in Vietnam for work. Vietnamese is an incredibly difficult language to learn, and I wasn't living there full time, so I didn't really learn much of it. Except one phrase I'll never forget: em là một cô gái xinh đẹp, which roughly translates to “you are a beautiful girl.”

When there's a will, there's a way, right?

I always find it a bit comical, the AFAMs who come to the Philippines. They somehow learn phrases like magandang babae within five minutes of landing, still swiping through Tinder profiles in the immigration line — yet they proceed to live here for the next ten years learning zero Tagalog. “It's too hard, I can't learn it,” they say. Sure, sure. And I'll be the first to admit it: I'm guilty myself. Guilty as charged.

All of this taught me something critical about language that I hadn't realized before. Our brains somehow magically, almost immediately remember things that are critical, or that help us get what we want, or that are rooted in an emotional experience. The more we make words emotional, or attach them to emotional experiences, the faster we learn.

Of course there are limitations. A lot of words in any language are simply boring, and always will be. Actually most are — so many that it's hard to even choose one as an example. I don't know: bucket? Dust? Toothbrush? Endless list. There is no replacement for simply using these words in boring conversations, or, depending on your learning style, hammering flashcards until they're an unconscious reflex.

But even so, attaching emotional experiences to words makes them stick forever, if you can find a way to create those kinds of connections. I first truly learned the words for fish (isda), fire (apoy) and bucket (timba) after grilling fish beachside during a sunset in the Philippines last year. Even timba, and also the Spanish variation of it, balde, stuck, because it was all part of the experience of buying the fish fresh off the boat from local fishermen earlier that morning. Another time I learned halo — to mix — while eating halo-halo for the first time in some random mall and thinking, oh my god, this is the best thing ever. For the life of me I cannot remember what mall I was in at the time or even the city, but I do vividly remember that experience and who I was with.

And even for the boring things. I can recall and re-tell a five-minute story in Tagalog about a tindero in Davao who I handed 1,500 pesos to while on a run, and asked them to deliver fruit to my apartment. Two hours later, he did. The words in that story are boring — sakto sa sabi niya, ganda ang prutas siya, ligtas sa Davao, sobrang bait ng mga tao dito sa Davao. But I learned more about my niya's and siya's and mga's, and how to use adjectives, from that experience than I ever would have reading a Tagalog grammar book.

And not to make this X-rated — just giving everyone permission to be human…I've learned more about Tagalog grammar trying to say extremely dirty things than I could in 100 Tagalog classes with my teacher. Why? Because it's fun. It's funny. Your brain relaxes a bit and attaches something emotional to it.

Adults often struggle with languages because deep inside their heads somewhere is a little voice telling them you are bad at this, you sound dumb, everyone will think you're silly.

So next time you are feeling a bit stuck, just write a story in simple Tagalog about an incredible, vivid experience — even if it was long ago. Or learn to say something to your partner that you'd never say in public. Like magic, it somehow flows, and you'll never forget the words or grammar again.

If the plan is to attach words to feelings, it helps to be able to name the feelings. The good news is that the sentence pattern is about as simple as Tagalog gets.

Feeling first, then the person. English says I am happy. Tagalog says happy I — the state comes first and ako follows. It's the same shape as mainit ang panahon: describe first, name the subject second.

• Masaya ako.I'm happy.
• Malungkot ako.I'm sad.
• Galit ako.I'm angry.
• Takot ako.I'm afraid.
• Pagod ako.I'm tired.

Some of these carry the ma- prefix we looked at when covering the word sarap — masaya from saya, malungkot from lungkot — and some are bare roots that need no prefix at all, like galit and pagod. You don't have to sort out which is which in advance. Say the feeling, add ako, and you have a complete sentence — one that can usually be tied to a unique or powerful emotional experience.

And then there are the ones English simply doesn't have. These are the words worth attaching to a memory, because there's no English shortcut to fall back on.

Kilig

The giddy flutter of romantic excitement

Gigil

The urge to squeeze something unbearably cute

Tampo

Withdrawing affection to show you've been hurt

Lambing

Sweetness, affection, being deliberately endearing

Examples like tampo are where I think learning a language gets fun. It isn't sulking exactly, and it isn't the silent treatment either — it's a recognised, almost expected way of signalling hurt, and the expected response is lambing to coax the person out of it. There is no English word for either half of that exchange — and to be honest, I don't think there's actually an equivalent social interaction like this in many other cultures. All from simple words like this. Crazy.

Telling stories isn't only good for your language learning. It is a very Filipino thing to do.

American storytelling — and I'm generalising about my own culture here — tends to be built around utility. What I learned. What insight I had. How I'm better now. What we accomplished. The experience itself is the setup, and the point is tied to some kind of outcome. There always has to be something else tacked onto it, as if the experience alone is not enough. Tell a story without a purpose or point and Americans are almost like “Okay, so what? Why did you just use my time for this story?”

In my experience, Filipinos are much more likely to share an experience simply for the sake of the experience itself, or to welcome you to do the same. No lesson tacked on. No need for some greater purpose. The story is the thing, and the story itself is enough.

At a deeper level, there's a lot that cultures like mine could learn from that. But on a more practical level, in the Philippines there is always room to tell a story, and nobody is waiting for it to arrive at a grandiose point. You don't have to tack on some deep meaning or outcome requiring complicated words and articulate insight. Simple stories and easy-to-describe emotional experiences — exactly the kind of speaking that makes a language stick — are enough.

For a learner, this is an enormous gift, and it all goes back to the same thing. When a language can become an emotional experience, it feels more natural. You learn more, you connect more, you have fun, and it flows.

So maybe that little voice in your head is lying. What's the real reason that AFAM immediately learns compliments for a beautiful girl? It's because he is fearless. He just wanted to explain something very emotionally charged, and he wasn't afraid of sounding stupid.

For the sake of everyone's sanity, let us please be more than the Tinder AFAMs in the immigration line. But there is a thing or two we can learn from them.