So, for those of you who measure your lifespans by fractions of centuries, this past October 8^th, I hit the ¼ mark. When I come home, at the very least, my car insurance will be cheaper.

This year, I spent the holiday with my newest homestay family. First off, for those of you who keep track, this is 8^th developing-country family to take me in, but the first to celebrate my birthday.

This new crew provides me a different view of Kyrgyz culture than the last. They have family living abroad and siblings who sport chess Grand-Masterships. The father one day asked me, “if the American economy is so bad, how come the value of the dollar keeps rising?” The children seem to study constantly.

We have a grandmother who lives with us. One of the first things I noticed was that she does that adorable, cartoony old person thing of scrunching her whole face when she chews. At dinner one night, I noticed she was peeling the apples before eating them, and so I asked, “don’t you like to eat the skin?” to which she replied with a laugh, “I have no teeth!”

This year’s birthday celebration was marked by a large dinner, and the exchanging of simple gifts. This new family seems very eager to embrace me as another child. They gave me a bright white kalpak, the traditional Kyrgyz hat, and a towel, “for washing your face.” I wore the hat all through dinner. In return, I gave them some American candy I recently got in a package (thanks Lizzie!), all were impressed.

Aside from these delightful festivities, I had a quick glimpse into the language acquisition process of a non-native speaker. As we sat around, eating slowly, people took turns toasting to me. In America, while this would be a rarity, I think I could handle the moment, but here, I became uncomfortable.

See, when I normally don’t understand things, I can either bluff my way through, or ask for clarification. But when something poetic is being said in my honor, I find it impolite to bluff, but also to ask for a repeat. Then, as I became more and more eager to make a toast of thanks, it became all the clear to me that my Kyrgyz simply can’t support such an exercise.

See, I am good at saying the things I say a lot. Sitting around, casually talking, even being at work, those things I can get by doing. But formal, poetic, toasting language, moments of sincerity, spoken intensely from the heart are a seldom occurrence here in this land of second language.

Just as here, when I was a child, my parents brought me to these types of settings, and I watched, I learned how to do it, in our, American culture. But here, not only do I not know the customs, neither do I have the language to even understand them. And being with people who care, who are clearly invested in the moment, it just hurts so much to get things wrong.

But we can’t let that stop us, now can we? So I tried, I thanked everyone I could think of, and all seemed impressed. Sometimes, I just hope for a little patience, and assume that practice will make perfect.

Originally Written Oct. 8th, 2009