‘I Don’t Know How to Flirt in My Mother Tongue’: What is the Love Language of an Expat?

By Mariana Serapicos

I was nineteen when I first had sex in Portuguese. When I first had sex, period. Funnily enough, when I first had sex, I was on my period – but that’s another story. Then I didn't have sex for some time.

I truly learned how to have sex in English, if sex is a learned thing. I read its dictionary in people's beds, after I moved to London. My first long-term relationship was with a Brit, and the following one as well. The things I asked for, what they asked of me… I only knew one language to say those words in. Maybe it’s because my cultural landscape was written and spoken in English. The books and films that surrounded me were the script I had when I was taking those first ‘steps’ into the world of sex.

I only slept with a couple of people whose first language wasn't English or Portuguese, so English was still the lingua franca under the sheets. It wasn't a choice; I didn't aim to date men named James or Tom. I dated men from Australia, New Zealand and South Africa – I call that my 'South' phase. Maybe the Commonwealth is my kink. I should add that to my list.

In the past couple of years, I’ve been terrified of going on dates with Brazilians or Portuguese men. ‘I don’t know how to flirt in my mother tongue,’ I’d tell my friends. I occasionally use Portuguese at work, to send an email or have a meeting. But most of my use of the language is done amongst friends and family. I often feel like my vocabulary is frozen somewhere in 2012, when I left home. Could I find it once again, in another land? 

I joke that I don’t know how people talk anymore, my friends laugh at my attempt at slang. I don’t have relevant cultural references; my knowledge is limited to Brazilian correspondents from the Guardian and links my mum sends me. My humour is a patchwork of the world that I now inhabit – which has very little Portuguese in it.

Studies shows that when a multilingual person speaks, multiple languages can be active at the same time, and this may cause some mishaps. You might use the wrong language or accent than you intended to. The languages are apparently competing with each other. So, I worry about freezing mid-sentence, searching for a word that I haven’t accessed for some time.

Last year, I went to Lisbon with a friend. Lisbon has become the digital nomad paradise: good weather, nice restaurants, great vibe. It was the first time in many years that I heard more English than Portuguese being spoken on the streets. A cheap place if you work for some sort of Cloud. The Portuguese people I know moved away; the ones who stayed struggle every day. It reminds me of Brazil in a way.

We wanted to mingle and make friends. I asked for a cigarette to the gringo outside the bar. We soon found out we’d come from the same place. We walked all the way to the beach and kissed, the ocean breeze sticking to our lips. We jumped in a cab, and he talked me through the Portuguese neighbourhoods and the history I probably read in books growing up. I only happen to speak this language because a certain man was after a certain piece of land.

‘How did you know what to say?’ asked one of my friends from back home, after I told her about my Brazilian fling. ‘I said what he did, but with synonyms,’ I replied. I was impressed with myself that after so many drinks I could think of so many words for dick. That must be a skill. ‘Don’t put that on you CV, please,’ she implored me. 

In what language do you think? I think in English. Though when I’m in Brazil, I think in Portuguese. I have to think in the language that I formulate my sentences in, but it takes a while to switch. My mum says I’m the same in all the languages I speak, which is weird. Most people say they have different personalities. ‘I’m much softer when I speak Persian,’ a friend told me. ‘To have another language is to possess a second soul,’ said the Roman Emperor Charlemagne. I wonder if all my souls are the same. How dull.

‘What’s your love language?’ is one of the prompts on Hinge. What is the love language of an expat? I’ve been accumulating languages of the worlds I ‘colonised,’ culturally, intellectually and romantically speaking. It’s in the ‘ear’ of the beholder, ultimately. What can I say? Like Zimmy sung, I contain multitudes. We all do.