A few days ago, I met someone from East Germany.

Halfway through our conversation, I couldn’t help asking: “Why does German sound so… hard? Are Germans really that stubborn?”

She paused, then laughed. “Not really. We don’t think we’re hard.” When she said that, her tone, rhythm, and word choice were all unmistakably German.

Not aggressive. Not unfriendly. Just a straight-line quality, things are things, rules are rules, no need to circle around, no extra decoration. And she was clearly unaware of it.

She went on to explain some German regulations: for example, if you marry a German citizen, the government observes the relationship for over ten months before you can even submit an application. You can’t hold a wedding stall without a roof. Every process must be aligned, recorded, verified.

She explained it all casually, like saying, “It’s raining, bring an umbrella.”

As I listened, I was quietly thinking: in many other cultures, this would already be considered unbearable. Strangely, I didn’t feel repelled. Instead, something clicked.

They’re not unromantic, they simply place security before romance. Their immigration rules are extremely strict.

I thought about the recent shooting at Bondi Beach, and my mood darkened a little. Sometimes the question isn’t whether to accept, but whether one can carry the consequences.

When clean water flows into clean water, nothing seems to change. But one drop of polluted water, and the whole pot becomes hard to call clean. This isn’t about good versus evil, or who is superior. Every society has a concentration it can sustain.

Language does too.

The “hardness” of German is the flavor produced by long exposure to systems, responsibility, and boundaries.

She doesn’t think she’s hard, just as we don’t think we’re “too casual.”

Language simply tucks an entire civilization’s habits between its words, waiting for someone to hear it and taste it.



—— XC Scribbles · 肆拾肆 XLIV 🗣️