Georgian Words I Continually Fuck Up

Somewhere around cup three and a half of coffee I decided that today I would write a blog post. But I had a problem in that I didn't know what I wanted to talk about. Occasionally I get things into my head that I have have HAVE to do, but then don't actually KNOW what I want to do about them. This is actually turning into a more and more common occurrence, and it was this exact feeling I experienced as I opened up this little composition.

Then I remembered the lists and realized that, with them, I've got at least six posts just waiting to be written up. I would say seven, but one of those lists is Doctor Who related, and since I've already talked about my favorite floppy haired Brits, I don't need to expand on that subject.

As such, today we're going to tackle the list titled, "Georgian Words I Continually Fuck Up." It looks much nicer in my notebook - there are some poofy lines and stars and little sun bursts all through the name, including some very pretty fonts. Cause nothing softens the blow of gratuitous swear words like some frilly cursive lettering!

Most of my difficulty with Georgian, other than the flat-out pronunciation of words, is found in word pairs that my head just cannot keep straight for some reason.

During orientation, we learned a lot of verbs that would come in handy with our host families. Two of them in particular, "I am going" and "I am coming," have proven to be super useful, as I like to be able to tell the family where I'll be at any given time. So these verbs and their imperatives were some of the first words I committed to memory, and they've really stuck to my brain. მოდი (modi) and მიდი (midi) are "go" and "come" respectively.

Only, ha, no Jo. You're dyslexic, and it's the other way around, with მოდი being "come" and  მიდი being "go." Only, I didn't really put two and two together about that until, shamefully, a few weeks ago when my host mom actually corrected me. So essentially, if I've been trying to say, "I am going to Tbilisi with my friends, and I come home Sunday" I'm actually saying, "I am coming to Tbilisi with my friends, and I go home Sunday." For the last six months. Whoops!

Another tricky pair that has been outsmarting me is ეს (es) and ის (ees), or "this" and "that." Why these are so problematic for my brain, I wish I could tell you. I think it's something to do with the fact that since Georgian doesn't have any articles, definite or indefinite, my poor English deprived brain keeps trying to impose English-like rules into conversation constantly, forcing me to overuse ეს to almost annoying levels. And if that's not confusing enough, ის not only means "that" but also the pronoun "it," which wouldn't be problematic except for I sometimes get nervous and use ეს when I should be saying ის because I want to say "it" and instead I say "this." If that makes sense.

No? Yeah, then now you know how any Georgian I talk to feels when trying to communicate with me.

Another pair that makes me sound like an idiot is ფული (puli) and პური (p'uri). The ფ is a soft sounding P, while პ is a more aspirated sounding P. Anyway, differing P's aside, these words mean "money" and "bread." Now, to Georgians, these words sound completely different. Not only are the beginning letters distinct, but the inner consonants are also totally unrelated. However, to my bastardized American ears, the P's are, in conversation, very similar sounding. So much so that unless it's highly emphasized, I can't tell you which P is which.

I bet you can see where this is going, right?

Yup. At the bank it's, "I need bread, please," and at a meal it's, "can I have money, please?" I was interchanging the two so much that I eventually started to avoid saying either one on the off-chance that I still had them mixed up. I've gone so far as to make a mnemonic reminder tying the consonant sounds together, ფული/lari (Georgian money), and პური/bread, which has helped some, but I still have to take a minute and think about it.

The last two tricky words are also completely unrelated, and this particular difficulty only exists in the plural, since every single noun has the same ending for plurals, and that ending is -ები. ჩიტები (chitebi) and ჩიკები (chikebi) mean "birds" and "cups." On numerous occasions, of course always at school, and of course always in front of judgmental Lamara, I will, inevitably, say, "Do we need birds for coffee?" Because god forbid I ever sound remotely intelligent when speaking this language!

So now that we've established that pairs of words are apparently my downfall, we can approach my most hilariously misused word to date. ყველაფერი. I was pretty stoked the day I found out about this word, which means "something," and I couldn't wait to start using "something," "anything," "everything," and "nothing" (all of which I learned at the same time!) as much as I possibly could because they're just so handy for conversations! I felt like such hot shit at the bazaar talking to a merchant, saying things like, "არ ვიცი რა მინდა, მაგრამ მინდა ყველაფერი!"(I don't know what I want, but I want something!), or when comforting an obviously distressed Bebia, "ყველაფერი ცუდია?" (Is something wrong?). Whenever I say this word, I get smiles, and I think, "Wow, look at me! I'm such a good foreigner that I know obscure Georgian words and they're so happy and appreciative about that! I refuse to be a shitty American that doesn't know anything past 'hello!'"

As I'm slowly discovering, I should probably remember that any time I feel really, really good about something, and believe I'm being a total badass, I'm most likely being the opposite.

My friend and I were heading down to a little shop near my house, and I asked my host mom if she needed something from the store. I always offer to pick up any small forgotten items if I'm going out, so I said the same question I'd asked literally dozens of times, "გინდათ ყველაფერი მაგაზაში?" (Do you need something at the store?)

And now we're nearing the point of the story where I stop feeling like such an amazeballs Georgian speaker.

My host mother, smiling like she always does when I ask her this question, shook her head and said, "No thank you," while my friend suppressed laughter. As we were walking down the street, she busted up and inquired, "So, what do you think you just asked her?"

"I said 'do you want something from the store!'"I proclaimed proudly.

"No," Sophia told me as she laughed. "You said, "Do you want EVERYTHING from the store?'"

So for months - MONTHS - in any situation where I thought I was saying "something" I've actually been saying "everything." My ego has taken a serious blow with this knowledge, and I've been knocked down a few pegs on the "Feeling Good About Georgian" ladder.

No wonder Georgians have been laughing at me whenever I say this stupid word! Looking back on the various instances I've used ყველაფერი in, all I can picture is me looking like this:

This is from a pretty amazing blog, written by one Allie Brosh. She is awesome and hilarious, and there are many times where I feel like she and I lead some weird parallel existence...

"I don't know what I want, but I WANT EVERYTHING!!!"

"Is EVERYTHING BAD???"

"DO YOU WANT EVERYTHING FROM THE STORE???"

Sometimes this language kills me.

But mainly it's a single letter that kills me, and that letter is ყ. Transliterated as "kgh," it essentially sounds like you're choking, but with a "k" at the beginning of your being choked. It is hands down my least favorite sound, and I will always fuck up any word that it is present within.

So naturally, judgmental Lamara thought it would be hilarious if I learned a tongue twister in Georgian (as if just normal sentences aren't enough of a tongue twister in this language, but whatever!), so she taught me a really common one:

ბაყაყი წყალში ყიყინება (bakghakghi tskghalshi kghikghineba), or "a frog is croaking in the water."

So here's how THAT went.

Sometimes it's probably better that I don't talk at all.

Unfortunately, that's never happened, not in the 26 years of my existence, and it certainly has not happened here.

I figure if I don't incessantly speak and make mistakes, I'll never learn. It might take me weeks, or even months, to sort some stuff out in my head, but hey! Baby steps! So maybe, by sounding like an idiot, I'll slowly become better at this language, while simultaneously making some Georgians laugh with my super bad accent. And who doesn't like a win-win sitch like that?