I am currently reading a book about a Slovak female scholar from the first half of the 20th century. Her life is portrayed by a contemporary author – a researcher who does not hide her own emotional and intellectual involvement. It is not a biography in the strict factual sense, but rather a literary rendering: the image of a woman whose story is reconstructed not only from sources but also through the author’s experience and language. A language that is gentle, sensitive, interwoven with memories, colors, and quiet understanding. (Book here)
As I read, I recall my first university studies and the thoughts that came with them. Just like the main character of the book and its author, I also studied *istics – a field combining language, literature, and history. She studied Bohemian studies, I studied Romanian studies. And like both of them, I felt the need to reconnect with what we call “national identity.” To seek a path back to the culture I come from – not in the state or political sense, but in the personal, inner sense of belonging.
The feeling of estrangement is something every immigrant knows. It’s not just a language barrier. It’s an internal split – the sense that you carry something within you that is unanchored, that drifts, and yet it is something truly your own, though no one around you shares it. Language then is not merely a tool of communication, but a mirror of the self. The ability to express oneself, to form thoughts, to share experiences – all this can become both a source of anxiety and a path to hope. At a certain point, the desire for understanding turns into a longing for return – not a physical return, but a cultural, mental one.
Unlike the protagonist of the book, I didn’t realize for a long time that I wasn’t that interested in studying other people’s works. Or perhaps it depends on which ones. With Romanian literature, I often feel that we’ve given too little to the world. And maybe I quickly became satisfied with what I could learn through self-study – through my own experiences, analysis, and intuition. Academic research didn’t attract me either – the field I had chosen felt too detached from reality, disconnected from the present or the future. Only later did I understand that this is exactly what the field is about: searching, questioning, rediscovering.
Today, I believe the beauty of such studies doesn’t lie in professional certainty. It lies in the language – in its power to open doors to one’s own thinking. In the opportunity to discover not only literature, but above all oneself. Language study is a path to understanding the world and creating new meaning. It is a form of exploration that borders on art. And maybe that’s why it’s not a science, but a quiet, lifelong passion.