Language

In September, I went to the United States for the first time in 12 years to serve as a jury member at
the International Violin Competition of Indianapolis. After the overwhelming amount of paperwork
for a U.S. visa, I became emotional when I landed in New York.

I once lived in the U.S. for a while.
My English has never improved since then. I am very much used to living in Belgium’s “English as a
second language” environment. For a long while, communicating with my family and students
without deeply expressing myself as I can in Japanese has been the norm. It is virtually impossible
for me to find English or French equivalents for some Japanese words that explain very subtle
emotions – how could one translate “Shimijimi” or “Nettori”?

Although I was not able to understand what the airline person was saying just after landing in New
York this time, my ears gradually became accustomed to English after a few days. Just like my
missing suitcase, it came out of nowhere, really.

Then the competition began.
When it comes to music, it doesn’t matter if my English is broken. I feel what I feel, and that’s all I
need to establish my conversation with others.
It was, however, a big relief for me that no interviews nor panel discussions were scheduled this
time.
I was the only one who wore a bright red dress for the Gala Opening Ceremony as well, with the
“flamboyant atmosphere” of 12 years ago in mind…
With shopping malls and restaurants closed since Covid started, even the mornings saw drug
addicts and drunk people strolling in Downtown Indianapolis. I felt unsafe walking by myself, and
always walked fast, alert to my surroundings.

It wasn’t bad at all, however, walking for 15 minutes to and from the competition venue, before
immersing myself in music or after listening to many young violinists. I walked around, breathed in
the fresh air, and listened to the crickets. I was feeling autumn’s steady arrival.
I often walked with other judges, and enjoyed talking with them.
Once I walked with Jaime Laredo. I met Jaime around 1981 in Paris through Clara, my roommate
back then, and her family. I reminded Jaime that we had “Steak au poivre” together at the time,
and he replied: “Whoa, what a great memory you have!” I asked him how other people from
Marlboro were doing. Jamie told me that his younger sister had passed away. I also asked him
about the Serkin family, the Marlboro Music Festival, and young musicians these days.
“Time flies!” I said. “Time changes!” Jamie responded, promptly. There are indeed lots of old
names and performances that young generations don’t know, something of which I was assured
listening to the young violinists in the competition. They played Bach and Beethoven very much ‘a
la mode’, their ceaselessly soft, sotto voce style sounding nothing like Grumiaux or the Guarneri
Quartet. It was all so different from my generation. I hope they start listening to those older
performances a lot more.

“Time changes”. Such a simple expression carries heavy weight. I thought it might mean all that
Jaime has carried – his background, feelings and sentiments. To be familiar with a language is to
bear the weight of words underlain by such experiences.
The same applies to musical terminology. You can only understand the meaning of “Grazioso”
through learning graceful melodies.
Growing up solely in Japan for 22 years, I understand deeply what is meant by “language is idea”. I somewhat resent myself for managing life only with poor French and English after I won the first
prize at the Queen Elisabeth Competition 42 years ago. I was supposed to study both French and
English very intensively – indeed, until they reached the level of my Japanese. Or, according to
what Mr. Eto taught me, I was supposed to “study one thing [English, in this case] very thoroughly.”
But I have stayed in my comfort zone, being always an ESL speaker in Belgium.

What makes things more difficult to understand is that, whether in French, English or Japanese, not
everything is put into words in a conversation. This is especially true of conversations with my
family members; my husband often says, “please say everything out loud because I cannot read
what you are thinking in your mind.” In addition to lots of my “omissions of explanation” and/or
“missing/skipping words,” I sometimes think that it might be presumptuous to ask someone to
understand what I say when I speak in English.

As the competition continued, I chatted a lot with other jury members. It seldom happens that
violinists from all over the globe gather in one place over 17 days like this. Unlike a music festival,
we did not perform ourselves, but had lots to talk about endlessly – over a delicious meal, of
course.
I am very grateful that everyone tried to understand my incomprehensible English, ultimately
appreciating that “That is not English but Yuzuko’s language.”

I was shocked by the humongous portions of food on the plates served at restaurants in the U.S.
and ended up sharing my every meal. I was also overwhelmed by the excessive use of A/C (air
conditioner) there. Why couldn’t they stop using it when they felt the wind of autumn and heard
the crickets outside? I was not the only one who needed extra sweaters and socks every time I
went inside the venue. I never heard the word “saving energy” in the U.S.
The hotel I stayed at for 17 days had a room cleaning service every single day, and my towels and
linens were to be changed unless I put down a note saying, “please do not change the towels and
linens.” Along with their excessive A/C use, I am very concerned about how wastefully they use
energy in the U.S..

Let’s go back to talking about language. I wonder what the “English” we use in Europe is like? Is
there any sentiment in it?
When we say, “I love it!”, ‘it’ (whatever it is) sinks into our heart because we put our feelings into
it.
In my case, I automatically mix different languages because the closeness of certain words to a
particular scene or emotion at that moment, regardless of their language, differs by each of my
experiences.
I had dreamed of becoming a “perfect” French speaker by studying elementary French for six years
while my kids did so in elementary school, but things were never so easy. I still mix Japanese,
English and French quite a bit when I speak. As a result, there are not so many people who can
understand my mixed language well. Complicated Japanese four-character compound words
smoothly flow out of my mouth when I stay in Japan long enough. In the States, I learned and used
a new word every day; through practice in real settings, I mastered how to use each word
appropriately and empathetically.

In summary, the weight or meaning of words varies based upon the environment where one has
lived or is living. Rather than how many languages one can speak or how rich a vocabulary one has
in a given language, what matters most is how deeply one gets involved with the language and
whether one can weave it into stories or ideas. That’s what I think is important about language.
For me, that language is Japanese. I read books only in Japanese, I write blogs about ‘Language and
Ideas’ in Japanese. I can tell and experience stories through Japanese unlike in any other language.

Having said that, sound is after all the medium in my day job as a violinist, which has no lyrics,
unlike singing. I just use my imagination and put my emotions into my violin. It is an unexpected
piece of luck if that makes the sound richer. I am grateful to be in such profession.

In October 2022 in Brussel.

Translated by Chihiro Otsuka and Charlie lovell Jones