Being a foreigner offers a glimpse of what life is like for anyone who has a brain injury, intellectual disability or lacks skills in human interaction.
Even simple exchanges of information can be fraught with uncertainty and misunderstanding. While I haven't changed, a different language, or different accent, or a different set of assumptions means I'm often not sure of exactly what is going on at any given moment. After some time for reflection, I might realise What Went Wrong, but not in the moment: too much is happening.
Perhaps the most useful insight being a foreignor offers is how depressing it is to see impatience or scorn (even if veiled) in the eyes of your interloculator. You understand that you're being given up on, and relegated to a lower order of humanity - that of too-stupid-to-be-bothered-with. You want to say: "I see that I'm missing something, or got off-track somewhere. Can we just run through it again, more slowly?"
Imagine how it would affect you if life was usually (or always) like that. If there was always some elusive something that you couldn't grasp.
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