[This is the third in a series of posts called “Don’t Take it Personal.” I will be writing letters to languages that have not been selected in this project, giving reasons for why I decided to “move on.” These will appear between regular posts, adding a more “comedic” spin to the blog.]
We don’t know each other very well. In fact, you might not remember me at all. But I wanted to write this because I had to unearth the feelings you left with me, as I finally found the right words.
I was only acquainted with you for a very short time when I was quite the youngster. I learned your masculine and feminine definite articles il and la and several other words from you. At a glance, you reminded me of Spanish.
Following our first meeting, I dismissed you as arrogant, exaggerated and flamboyant. Your double consonants were annoying and so many of your features were so heavily similar to the other Vulgar Latin descendants so I wasn’t initially impressed. But later, as I learned about art history, I got to know your intellectual and refined side. I learned about your Tuscan roots and how you, in a sense, became the language of the arts during the Renaissance and beyond.
But still, I imagined a future for us and I could only picture myself with a stale glass of wine, sipping with disappointment.
Please do not be offended. There are still many things about you many should and will adore. Your alphabet is perhaps more phonetic-based and easier to understand than the other Romance languages and you are the only one who pronounces every sound, as it seems to carry the rhythm of Rome. You are perhaps the most original of them all, but still, I can’t pretend. I’m sorry I can’t.
Oh, Italiano, I am so sorry for this. As so many say in other tongues, it’s not you, it’s me. I can say, “Una sola lingua non è mai abbastanza” but will it ever be enough? I don’t know.
Until we see each other again, ciao.