7 Ways My Self-Expression Changes When I Speak Spanish, and Some Notes on Life in Spain and Romania

Our personality shifts when we speak a different language, based on context and the culture we associate with it. Here’s about me & Spanish.

Here are some of my considerations on Spain and Spaniards, and how I relate to both as a Romanian. Also, some notes about how I speak Castilian or Peninsular Spanish (castellano de España) — the variety of this language as spoken in Spain.

In my experience, Spaniards are both thoughtful and vocal, and they love to enjoy life in the company of their friends and family. They would spend long hours together at a taverna, telling loads of stories and laughing at them while ribbing one another.

Spaniards really like to chat and are more open to strangers than other cultures. Okay, this sounds like a textbook sentence, but I’m trying to give you a sense of Spanish culture before I dive into how I express myself differently in Spanish.

During the Spanish Civil War of 1936–1939 and Franco’s dictatorship, which lasted until his death in 1975, Spaniards lacked many democratic liberties, including political and trade union rights. Afterward, they caught up on those decades of lost freedoms by being very vocal politically and asking for many progressive rights. They also seem to be vocal at work when they don’t like something or they don’t particularly appreciate the words or actions of a disagreeable (antipático) colleague.

Here in Romania we share some of those characteristics, and, as it happens, we’ve also gone through a long dictatorship, which left us hungry for freedom and the power to share our views. However, tradition holds very strong here and it’s hard to shake some outlooks when it comes to more modern freedoms; and then again, you’d be surprised at what some people believe in when they watch too much TV — not that they are alone in that, no: it seems to be a symptom of our age.

Speaking of tradition, Spain is still very Catholic, even though only 55.4% of its inhabitants identified as Catholic in 2021. But you wouldn’t know it if you were to look at their Semana Santa (Holy Week) processions, where everybody takes to the streets or cranes their neck out from their window to see the various religious floats (pasos) — with large statues of Jesus and Mary, usually centuries-old — carried by penitents, with more of them at the back and front of the floats, all of them wearing robes along with conical hoods (capirotes) with two cutouts for the eyes.

Visitors from all over the world flock to places in Andalucía and Castilla y León, to see some of the most famous Lent processions, and locals are very proud of them too. I have to say that to someone from Romania, these penitents look rather scary, but to Spaniards these procesiones are par for the course, as they have, indeed, been since Medieval times. They also don’t see all the references to suffering that I see, for instance, as an Orthodox Christian, but do, in fact, treat these processions as a great spectacle (which it is) and a cause for celebration (which it is, ultimately, since it’s an Easter procession that — as they say — ends well; but then again, the capirotes are connected to the Spanish Inquisition, among other things).

Okay, this digression aside, here comes another one. Here in Romania 85.3% of the 95% of people who completed the 2022 census declared themselves Christian Orthodox (and only 0.9% of people declared themselves “without religion”). That’s a large number of Christian Orthodox believers in this day and age. But don’t be fooled: a vast majority of these people go to church only for the Easter service (held at midnight before Easter Sunday), and then for various big life occasions: marriage, baptism, death.

That said, a lot of people here follow various religious traditions, some of them a mix of Christianity and (absorbed) paganism. On Palm Sunday, for instance, the Sunday before Easter, we celebrate flowers and people with flower names, along with Nature with a capital N, in an echo of the Roman Floralia festival. So on Palm Sunday few people go to church or give more than a passing thought to Jesus Christ’s triumphal entry into Jerusalem. Instead, people go for strolls in parks and make a point of basking in the beauty of spring. And then some of those who do go to church take willow wreaths there to be dipped in holy water. It’s meant to be a symbol of humbleness, because the willow’s branches hang down toward the ground, but traditionally these wreaths, placed in homes next to religious icons, were meant to ward off evil and diseases.

When it comes to self-expression, I appreciate Romanian wit, though not so much Romanians’ kind of forthrightness and our particular brand of being loudmouthed (which I’ve tried to tame in myself). I also think we as a country have a way to go to embrace differences, much as we are, indeed, a loving people and open our arms to receive other people with warmth and kindness.

As it happens, Spaniards can be very direct too, but when I hear their straightforward remarks, I feel they come from a different place, meant on setting someone straight so we can all enjoy life more. In contrast, in Romania I often witness a battle of wills: who’s smarter, who wins, who’s better than whom. I know saying this may reflect badly on me (as a Romanian saying something against my people) and I also know all cultures have this trait to a certain extent (although the cultural molds for it and their individual expression vary greatly), but I’ve never considered myself in competition with anyone, and have always been very happy and blessed to be in the presence of people smarter and more accomplished than myself (while also believing that I have my own path to cut in life — it hasn’t been easy sometimes, but I’ve held on to that belief).

Anyway, regarding this spirit of competition, I have to say that I’ve seen very little of it in Spain (or maybe it was not played up around me!), at least in people who are now my age (mid-forties) and who have been able to carve a life for themselves based on one or more of their callings and some of their better skills.

Of course, you’ll say, people who are satisfied in life are always at ease when it comes to what others may see as their competition. But I think part of this difference between Romania and Spain also has to do with the standard of living, which is to say with the competition for resources. After many years of hardship after WWII and decades of being poorer than other countries in Western Europe, much of Spain is now comfortably middle-class. In contrast, here in Romania we spend a quarter of our income on food (and it’s not always quality food), 24.8% to be exact, more than any other country in the European Union. According to Eurostat statistics for 2021, the Irish spend 8.3%; Austrians, 10.9%; and Germans, 11.8%. Spaniards spend 15.2%, close to the 14.3% European average. But then Spaniards spend 11.3% of their money on bars, restaurants, and hotels, almost double compared to the European average of 6.6%, and much more than the Romanian figure of 3.6%.

That said, life in Romania can be quite joyful, as people like to go out for a meal (and many restaurants are offering cheap lunch options), a drink, a dance, or a long barbecue with family and friends. We also, as a people, like to travel. We did the vast majority of our travel in Romania during communist days, so after ’89 everyone was eager to travel abroad. The trend has changed some with the pandemic, when people have rediscovered great places in Romania, and is now going strong both travel both at home and abroad.

In many ways, we approach the enjoyment of life as Spaniards do, but if you ask me, Spaniards seem to have more power while at it. In a sense, just as with the Semana Santa processions, I feel everything is bigger with them. And this could have an explanation in that they are a major culture, with a “big” history, while we are a minor culture. Spanish literature, for instance, is read throughout Latin America and around the world, while we struggle to get a dozen of translations out there every year. Of course, we’ve had some major writers and artists ourselves, personalities renowned around the world such as the historian of religions Mircea Eliade, the musician George Enescu, and the sculptor Constantin Brancusi, but as a culture, we cannot have the heft of Spain.

This is partly why Spain has power over us as Romanians: we relate to the culture in many ways, and we also admire Spain as the land that gave the world Cervantes and Federico García Lorca, Antonio Machado and Miguel Hernández, writers that brought to dizzying heights a language our Latin soul understands. And then, of course, it’s easier to learn Spanish than, say, English, because both Spanish and Romanian are Romance languages, derived from Latin.

Of course, to come back to my earlier point about major and minor cultures, I’m not saying that great writers can’t be born in less powerful cultures — just that when, over the centuries, a lot of writers and artists have had the leisure to work in and on a language such as Castilian Spanish, you tend to get more polished gems after a while. And then Latin America built on developments in literary Castilian Spanish and added to them their own brands of Spanish and the fire of their own cultures, which again resulted in major accomplishments.

I’ve come now to the point where I’ll consider how exactly speaking Spanish changes my self-expression.

For one, it makes me speak louder, as if my personality were louder. Part of that has to do with the fact that when I’m in a group where everybody is very vocal, I inadvertently begin to speak más fuerte. Also, as a rule, Spaniards do speak más alto, at a higher volume, without much regard for being heard by people outside their group. This happens, to an extent, in Romania as well, but Spaniards are louder than us. Part of it has to do with the fact that they socialize outdoors even more than we do; and then I feel it’s also a question of temperament — among other things.

Second (speaking of temperament), when I speak Spanish I act out my statements more forcefully, as if I were a more extroverted and energetic person than I actually am! The funny thing is that expressing myself that way does, in fact, give me more energy. (Or maybe it’s the adrenaline of spending a few days in one of my favorite countries, with some of my favorite people.)

Third, my inflections mimic those of my Spanish friends (and other Spaniards I know). Interestingly enough, I don’t unconsciously copy actors I’ve seen in movies, for instance, but people I’ve seen in flesh and blood— which is why it’s important to be able to have these contacts.

Fourth, I speak with my body, more so than in Romania. People here don’t gesticulate too much, certainly not on a par with Italians or Spaniards, but I like to use my hands to describe things when I talk. And I’m bringing this to my communication in Spanish in a more emphatic way.

Fifth, when I speak Spanish I tend to involve that person more in my speech. I use the question tag “no?” (“isn’t it?”) often and I generally wonder more about things 😊. I also use more questions (“But what do you think about . . .?”) and overall say more things that call for a reaction from my interlocutor — who will often say “Claro!” (and who will sometimes use a rising inflection at the end — “Claro?” — as they are waiting for more details). I’d also bring my interlocutor in by referring to what they said during that conversation or previous ones. Of course, it may be that I do the latter because I don’t see these people too often, but it may also be because they are doing it with me while we speak Spanish — and they are doing it so that there would be more clarity to the conversation for my sake, so that I’d have an easier time understanding where they’re coming from.

Sixth, I’m very tempted to swear, because Spaniards swear left and right. But I feel I can’t make any of those swear words mine, so when I’m moved to have a strong reaction I end up at a loss for words — which is not to say at a loss for expression (I usually smile).

Seventh, I may appear more polite in Spanish (and English) than in Romanian. I certainly use por favor and please more than I do their Romanian equivalents. Romanian has other forms of being nice without being overtly polite. We usually say, for instance (to attempt a more literal translation), “Can I have the salt as well?” instead of “Can you pass the salt, please?”

Eighth, I tend to be like a torrent in Spanish, or at least speak in a connected manner, even though I know I’ll make some mistakes. In English, even though I’m more proficient (in fact, because of it), I tend to pause often and express an idea in many ways sometimes. I also choose the words to do it very carefully, to express exactly what I’m thinking, and to include all the nuances I want to include. I can’t do all that in Spanish, so I’m more blunt (more direct, but also more abrupt and insensitive in speech), despite trying to be more polite.

So anyway, these are my thoughts on how I shift my personality when I speak Spanish, and some considerations as to why I do that.

This piece was written in response to Language Hub’s April 2023 Topic of the Month: How Language Changes Your Personality.

I hope you’ve enjoyed this article. There are more where this one came from. If you’d like to stay abreast of my new pieces on Medium, you can sign up for emails here.

To a happier, healthier life,

Mira