Another language is another soul, said Charlemagne. What brought me back to French language last spring was not a romantic ideal, but something more profound.
When hearing, reading and speaking French, a part of me can breathe. It's a part that otherwise stays hidden, cooped up inside, a part I never knew existed, really, until I learned another language.
When I spoke Czech, I also discovered another part of my spirit. The Czech language is very personal and intimate; it changes so frequently that everyone who speaks it conjures up their own inflections, diminutives of nouns, nicknames and ways to express themselves.
My Czech was never very good, but I did manage to communicate with others and once I could, I formed many deeply personal relationships.