Safe Rebellion: Swearing in a Foreign Language
On finding freedom, distance, and intimacy in another tongue
If speaking a foreign language means speaking from a distance, it’s easy to think that this distance might prevent me from writing about emotions or reaching depth in my inner world. But the truth is, I feel most comfortable and natural writing in English. Perhaps it’s because my first major in literature allowed me to be immersed in an English-language environment at a young age, so I developed both habit and familiarity with reading and writing in English.
Similar to saying swear words, writing in a foreign language can feel liberating, since there are no taboos. I can write about the most intimate and honest feelings that I might feel too vulnerable or too ashamed to express in my mother tongue. I can be bolder. The distance of English also allows me to think and see more clearly, keeping me from falling into clichés. When I write in Chinese, I sometimes use words that feel imprecise or automatic. But in English, I have to understand exactly what each word means. That makes me more deliberate, more precise, and more creative.
Even though I’ve lived in France longer than the combined years I spent in the U.S. and the U.K., I still feel a greater distance from French than from English. Perhaps it’s because my relationship with French is mostly shaped by day-to-day life and professional contexts, rather than literary ones. I’ve also read far more literature in English than in French, so I don’t feel fluent or confident enough to use French for personal or literary expression.
As for Chinese, my mother tongue, I find myself using it more and more in my diary, which is only for myself. There, I can relax and let my stream of consciousness take over. Each character feels like a tiny thread that connects me to my homeland when I’m living elsewhere. It also adds a quiet layer of protection.
Writing from Afar: Between Loss and Invention
When I think about what it means to write in a foreign language, I often imagine standing outside a house, watching the light inside flicker but never fully stepping in. There’s a kind of safety in that distance — and also a kind of loneliness.
Maybe because I write in a foreign language, I’ve always been drawn to writers who did the same.