What transcends the inability to speak the same language? Is it a shared look? A smile? Sometimes, I find it is a drawing- In all of the little streets that I twisted and turned onto, filled with vegetables and vendors, steaming pots of soup, sparkling Christmas decorations, and glistening ducks, the language of pride came through. When I paused for a minute or two to draw, our connections were made. I felt like I had spoken to everyone who I drew, though I had not uttered a word!