Gunther.

There are many stages to learning a language, all of which are complex, confusing, emotional, frustrating and often heart-wrenching. For those who do not follow this perplexing lifestyle, it may often seem mad to watch those who do, put themselves through the things they do. You may not understand linguistics, but what you will probably understand is love.

Learning a language is like a tempestuous love affair.

I have two relationships which dominate my life; my real, tangible one in the form of a male human, and my hidden, sordid one with German. Let's call German, Gunther.

Gunther has been the focus of my life for ten years now. It all started as an innocent, brief flirtation which excited and exhilarated me. I would lie awake at night remembering the things he had taught me that day, and look forward to our weekly meetings. I let Gunther woo me away from the charms and allures of Francois, his French counterpart, and by-and-by; he wheedled his way to the forefront of my amusements.

By the age of 15, I had spent hours of my life obsessively memorising long love speeches to Gunther, describing where I came from, my name and hobbies, what my parents did for a living, how many bedrooms my house had, and whether I walked or took the bus to school in the morning. It was all very twee. I had to learn my declarations by heart, as in his presence my mind went completely blank, my pulse throbbed in my neck, I felt sick and my knees were weak. Years later, at 18, I was still doing the same. I was still terrified of looking a fool whilst explaining to the object of my obsessions my heartfelt opinions on abortion law and recycling policies.

Gunther had made me ill; the colder he got, the more I wanted him.

Fast forward four more years, we are still battling at our relationship. We argue more often than not; I swear to never speak to him again after bitter arguments about his fundamental rules and regulations. Yet the morning comes, and with it I find myself spending another hour of my life in a 9am Syntax lesson.

I hate him. I do not understand him. I wish I had never met him. He fills me with rage and makes me want to eradicate him from the planet, yet despite this, I cannot stop loving him and going back for more.

Gunther tells me on a regular basis that I am not good enough; that I will never be good enough. He makes me feel stupid and ignorant, but on the rare occasion that we get along, the feeling is so magnificent I instantly forget every bad thing that has ever passed between us. Yes, I have sleepless nights pondering the reasons I do not understand his complex character; yes, I have sacrificed many things in my life in order that I can further pursue him; yes, he humiliates me and alienates me; but in those short five minutes of beautiful clarity that pass between us when he says something I understand, and I utter something legible in response, there is no better feeling in the world. Pure ecstasy.

My friends do not care for Gunther; they are tired of my relentless whinging about his faults. 'Leave him', they say. 'If he makes you unhappy, leave him'. Logical, yes. Realistic, no.

I am tired of my relationship with Gunther being continually on the rocks, so I will work to extremes until we are in a more comfortable place. I do not mind that the effort is a little one sided, he can offer me things that nothing else can.

I will change.
I will watch his favourite TV programmes, excitedly hold hands with him in the cinema, eat in his local restaurants, read the books he has recommended to me, sing and dance along to the songs he has recorded (no matter how terrible they sound to my untrained ears), befriend all of his friends and strut around in his fashions.

Surely, this will seal the deal.