Smile :-)

A smile is the same in every language.

We've all heard that quote before, but how often do Americans actually encounter language barriers that make us ponder it? Virginia isn't exactly the diversity mecca of the world, so rarely did I hear an accent, much less come across someone who couldn't speak English. In New York, the ultimate melting pot, "a smile is the same in every language" holds far more value as I try to tell the dishwasher that I need "quatro leche cups rapido." All I can do is point and smile to somehow convey "I'm in a hurry, but I'm not mad and I appreciate your help!" Gracias, gracias. Good thing I had those four years of Spanish...

I did not study Israeli, however. At all. So communicating with one of my bosses proves difficult as he has a very thick Israeli accent. I feel a little sheepish typing "Israeli" because that is not what Israeli people speak. I made it up. I guess it's technically either Hebrew or Arabic, but the point is that it's not an accent I am used to hearing, nor could I ever hope to know even one word of the language. Half the time, my boss's instructions sink in about five seconds after he gives them, leaving me smacking my own forehead for responding completely inappropriately. Luckily, if I nod and smile, I buy myself a few more seconds of comprehension- and a nod generally depicts whatever answer he's looking for. "Can you take this to a table?" Smile and nod. "Did you tell them what the special is?" Smile and nod. "Bread for table 34?" Smile and nod. "What drink did that woman want?" Smile and nod. Oh wait. See, that's when the smile becomes important. Because even if it's obvious that I did not understand the question, at least I seem pleasant.

For the record, if I legitimately don't know what he asks of me, I double check like a good waitress. But I've learned that most of the time I'll figure it out within 10 seconds of the initial inquiry. Unfortunately, my smile and nod routine doesn't work for every situation and breeds awkward silences during which we both realize that all productive communication was intercepted by the language barrier.

All of that being said, I smile my way through work because I am acutely aware of how much a smile lifts my own spirits. When I burst into the kitchen in a whirlwind trying to find doilies and a cook smiles and says "You doing okay?" (which sounds like "jew doonkay"), I'm infinitely grateful for the gesture of support. No words could take the place of Tarek's (my Israeli boss) smile after I ask a question to let me know I'm not a giant idiot. By the way, Tarek speaks perfectly proficient English. I just usually have 40 different things on my mind as I scurry around the restaurant, so an accent only adds to the jumble in my head when it'd be perfectly understandable otherwise. Either way, smiling has come to mean even more to me than usual.

Taking care of a leper (I'm in red)

Before church with other girls on the trip (I'm in blue)

The first time I was exposed to "a smile is the same in every language" was when I visited Chennai, India in 2004 and again in 2006. Both years, I stayed for around three weeks, working in an AIDS home, leper colony, primary school, and various other medical and computer clinics/facilities. I was only 16 during my first visit...talk about a culture shock. By the time I returned in 2006, the tsunami had devastated much of the area I'd visited before, leaving thousands of families torn apart and unbelievable wreckage. The school for children orphaned in the tsunami and the AIDS home changed me more than anything else. Cutting and dressing wounds in the leper colony was beyond intense, attending church with hundreds of Christians in Chennai gave me more faith than I've ever felt, and teaching English in the HOPE worldwide primary school in the slums opened my eyes and warmed my heart. But showing the little kids with AIDS and without parents that they were special and loved changed the way I interact with strangers forever. I couldn't tell them with words that I cared, so smiling was the only way to make them feel comfortable.

Found no photos of Lakshmi; these are at tsunami relief

One 5-year-old little girl from the AIDS home, Lakshmi, holds the title of most memorable smile. She seemed nervous and shy when we first met. Her caretakers informed us that most of the children rarely interact with people outside the AIDS home because they would be persecuted for their disease. However, by building a relationship with nothing but smiling, singing, and dancing, Lakshmi would not let go of my hand by the final visit at the end of the trip. I will never, ever forget her tiny little body twisting around in my lap during the last day just to look up at me and smile. We had no communication other than that, but it created a deeply inexplicable bond. I know that she felt safe and accepted when I smiled at her, but she had no idea how much her smile ingrained in me the importance of cultural togetherness and acknowledging individuality. She wasn't just another child with AIDS; she was Lakshmi, a unique little girl with interests and experiences all her own. To this day, the reason I don't see the cooks as just "the guys in the kitchen" or all football players as "dumb jocks" is because she taught me that everyone deserves the chance to be known as an individual.

I guess you can see why my platform for Miss Virginia was Diversity Awareness and why I founded S.A.I.L. at CNU (see earlier blog post). When you smile at someone and your eyes meet, he/she's no longer part of a pack. That's what I mean by cultural togetherness- grasping that each culture is made up of distinct individuals, which in turn should bring us all together. And it can all start with a smile. :-)