Berkley Center

“This is not Scotland.” Despite the sometimes intrinsically disparate images of Scotland they subsequently put forward, all Scots I have met yet come to accord in asserting that this chic little town (St. Andrews) stands deviant of any true representation of the country. On Scotland, some speak of anti-Catholic undercurrents. Others not only disagree, but altogether seem awfully perplexed when themes of religion are brought up to begin with.

In their wide open starry eyes, one can see them grabbling unto the limits of their imagination to perk up a subject matter that seems hopelessly formless. Smiling faintly at times they may; more often than not, disinterest is difficult to miss on their open faces.

The longer I stay, the more it becomes evident to me that the town itself speaks of nothing that can be spoken of in a macro level. While indeed cuddly within reach of other much more Scottish towns/cities, St. Andrews stands astride maintaining its isolation. Not necessarily so for locals, the university-centric setting of the town makes it very difficult to escape the predominant university culture. Blatantly reverberated into one's every domain of activity, the cosmopolitan university culture effectively mutes anything this ancient Scottish town could possibly have to say. Indeed, much could surely be said of the St. Andrews culture and its attitude towards religion, as I came to ponder in my previous essay. Parallels with the wider Scotland yet I believe should be only very cautiously embarked upon. Not that it is starkly improbable that the wider Scottish culture proves similar. Mellow and nonchalant as it is, this pictorial small town’'s outlook on religion after all still fits with rather ultra-conventional portrayals of Europe by and large. It is simply, however, that the potential peculiarities of the Scottish religious culture are very difficult to discern, that if any prove to exist.

In a setting so striking not in what it presents in terms of religion but rather in its bareness of it, I find myself forcefully pushed into the back of my mind. Amidst an astounding neutrality, my mind yet again embarks on its own monologues of religion and culture and comes to conceptualize ever clearly realities that it has always only took disengaged notice of.

Through its absence, my very own native language (Arabic) came to allure me. You see, language is a pillar in the very societal fabrics of reality. Imbued within its phraseology and wording are chief cultural keys. This is why the monologues of my scatterbrain came to mostly find solace with Arabic language students. As I have touched upon in my previous essay, God and reverberations of faith are appealed to in the most mindless of murmurs and most casual of chatter back in many Arab cultures. For a believer, however, living in a religiously hegemonic culture, it never proved necessary to discern why I for one come to voice such categorically religious elements in my everyday speech. More importantly, it never proved necessary to work out whether it is possible to still speak Arabic idiomatically and yet consciously veer away from such elements.

Answers only came from the experiences of many of my friends who are studying Arabic as a foreign language. Quite keenly, many came to reveal to me how, in speaking Arabic, they find themselves as if dragged into a realm of faith, even despite themselves. They spoke of finding themselves voicing notions that they do not consciously believe in and that they would perhaps never consciously choose to pronounce in their native languages. The very language of the Arab world seems to open a door to a rather different reality and a different paradigm altogether.

I could not help but sturdily nod as I curl back again into the back of my mind. With a fairly bilingual upbringing, I have always felt to be caught in a sway between two different realities that do not mix but in which I yet equally dwell. It has always been through language that my very world seems to tune to one archetype or the other, as it is through language that I have always came to see the spirits of these archetypes unraveled. A mark of my very existence, however, I have never been pushed to conceptualize it neither to myself nor to others as I am now. Never did I need to embark on a language’'s elements of religiosity or lack thereof, regardless of how more neutral such a lack admittedly is. Never did I need to infer any conclusions. In its absence however, the Arabic language, and the peculiarities of the culture pinned to it are crystallized more than ever before. In its absence, it is as if one of my very realities slip ever so slowly away; a reality ever so peculiar in a language whose every word leads to God.