‘Why do you write in English?’ He asked.
‘Aren’t you Dutch?’ He continued.
‘Do you still speak the language where you come from, Indian?’
He asked.
I was a bit perplexed and couldn’t quite answer that fast.
He was very persistent when he was speaking to me.
I almost didn’t have time to answer.
Perhaps because he was German?
It could be, is what I thought.
‘English is so easy, it almost has no meaning’, is what he said.
It is all I could remember from the conversation we had.
His tone was still persistent.
‘I have thought about what you are saying’, I said to him.
I don’t know if he had finished speaking, but I took advantage of the absence of his words.
A space of time where I was able to say what I wanted.
‘A while ago I had written a post in English on Instagram and you have like this translation button’, I said to him.
‘By accident I had pressed this button’.
‘Then I saw the same text in English only then in Dutch’.
‘And you know, the text was even beautiful in Dutch’.
‘The thing is, when we write something that is beautiful’.
‘If you change the language, it will still be beautiful’.
Is what I said.
He kept silent and didn’t say anything further.
I couldn’t tell if that was an answer that he was looking for or something that fullfilled his being.
But what is beautifull is beautifull in all languages.