There’s a Hair in my Food (and other social awkwardness)

I stared uncomfortably at the hair in my food. Neither of us had been talking, so the recognition of the hair did not cause the awkward silence. But it reinforced the gap between us in my mind. A minute ago, we just didn’t have anything new to share with each other and had been eating in peaceful quiet. I had been staring out the window ahead of me, bringing forkful after forkful of food up to my mouth, thinking about the dream I had last night about a dog trying to rescue someone drowning in the lake, and the Tarot card reading I’d been doing before dinner, and people’s “About Me” descriptions on Couchsurfing, and the blog entry I was going to try to write later that evening.

While eating, I thought of many things, like my Tarot card reading.

I had barely been aware that we were not talking.

Then I saw the hair. Now I had something to focus on. I knew the Armenian words for “hair,” and “in my food.” Should I say something? Should I ignore it? How could I surreptitiously pick it out?

Now the silence was meaningful and I was uneasy; I had something to say for a change, but wasn’t sure if I should say anything.

Then, because of my indecision in talking about the hair, I became aware that nothing was being said between us, and in fact, we had barely said two words to each other since I sat down at the table. That made me think about other meals we had together, and I realized we didn’t talk that much. And that brought my mind back to yesterday at lunch.

Some context: Right now, everything is cold and snowy.

Yesterday, I went with a woman from the college to meet her family. Two young sons, her husband, her brother, her brother’s wife and son, her brother’s brother, her neighbor, her dad and mom, her husband’s dad, and some other people, whose relations I don’t recall.

So I met them all, said hi, asked after their well-being, and sat at the head of the kitchen table with a glass of apricot juice. The women bustled around, getting lunch ready. The men sat and smoked near the heater. The kids ran around, playing with toys and babbling nonsensical Armenian. I enjoyed being in such a family atmosphere, and just watched them all as I drank my juice.

I wanted to say something. I wanted to get to know this family better. I hoped, deep inside that we could make some good connections and I would be welcomed back again.

But the only thing my mouth opened for was to accept the juice from my glass, and the only thing my tongue was good for was helping me swallow. No words would come out. The language center of my brain was not functioning. I couldn’t think of a single thing to say to anyone—not a comment, not a question. Even if any of them had spoken English, I’m not sure I could have come up with anything.

I smiled and looked around, and inside I floundered. What do people say to each other normally when they first meet? How do you make small talk? I was completely stumped. I found myself retreating, smaller and smaller into my head. I grew shy, embarrassed, and unsure of how good my Armenian really was, to be able to have a conversation anyway. Much as I wanted to talk, there was no way I would be able to introduce a topic, and I hoped that if they suddenly chose to talk to me, I would be able to quickly handle the questions and move the spotlight back to someone else.

When did I get this way? Or is this really just how I am? I know that, even in English, I usually prefer other people to do the majority of the talking and me to do the majority of the listening. But I can usually hold up my end of the conversation, or join into a conversation between other people, right? Right?

Who am I, and what are "New Ev's" strengths and weaknesses? (This photo taken by Caroline.)

There were fits and starts in my visit. Some good parts, like when they asked about my family and exclaimed over my four sisters and ten brothers. There was also the momentary distraction of looking at pictures of their family.

But there were also moments of complete deadness in the room where all I could think of was my own inadequacy in communicating.

As I held staring and uncomfortable smiling contests with my hosts, I tried to reason with myself. “They’re glad you’re here. They’re interested in you. They don’t care what you say, but they want you to say something. Anything. Reduce the tension. Say something funny. It doesn’t matter if your grammar’s not perfect. Tell a simple story about your day. Ask what their favorite season is.”

I wanted them to know how glad I was to be there and I appreciated their hospitality. I wanted to learn more about them and their lives.

I wanted them to know that I am interesting to talk to. But then I realized, apparently that’s not the case anymore. Instead of interesting, I have become socially awkward.

Much as I wanted to stay and converse, I wanted even more to leave and go somewhere where there were no people so I wouldn’t feel pressured to think of something to say. Beads of sweat were not appearing visibly on my brow, but they were rolling down in curtains inside of me.

———-

I took a few lessons from this visit. If you are ever in a situation where you are hosting a foreigner who doesn’t speak your language well, here are some things you can do to make them more comfortable:

• Summarize conversations for them, in simple words, so they feel like part of the group.
• Tell them little stories about other people in the room, so they don’t have to search out those stories themselves.
• Ask them to tell everyone else some little story or fact about themselves that they have already told you. This helps in two ways: you know they have the language skills for it, and you can help translate to everyone else and flesh the story out a little bit.
• Let them sit and stare, and just go on with your tasks, without commenting on their quietness or making them uncomfortable about not speaking. This helps them settle into their surroundings.
• Give them some small task to do, so they can focus their attention somewhere else for a little while.
• Have your kid entertain them.

———-

I appreciated everything my hosts did to make me feel comfortable. The problem was not with them. The strain of the visit wasn’t as bad as the realization that I don’t know how to socialize anymore.

I’ve had other uncomfortable situations with Armenians, especially with my first host family last summer during training. Back then, I chalked it up to being a beginner at Armenian. I don’t have that excuse anymore. At lunch yesterday, my language should have been decent enough to follow and contribute to most conversations. My only excuse rested with myself. I have turned into a non-conversationalist.

And now it was being reinforced by my dinner, and the hair staring at me from between the square noodles in my bowl.

I picked it out, when she turned her head to look out the window. When she turned back, I opened my mouth… and inserted another forkful of food.

Sighing, I decided I would work on breaking my silence some other time, maybe when winter is over.