Still.
Early morning hours. Acoustic disturbances.
My pronunciation exercises.
The realization hits like failed dissertation defense. Six months of daily linguistic practice, volume levels calibrated for empty building acoustics. Never considering potential neighbors, never accounting for shared wall transmission.
Victorian construction prioritizes aesthetic over soundproofing. High ceilings that enhance my vocal resonance also amplify transmission to adjacent units. What sounds like controlled academic exercise to me probably registers as mysterious chanting to anyone sharing my floor.
And orcish vocal cords produce naturally deeper tones than human anatomy. Even my whispered Hungarian carries bass frequencies that penetrate building materials designed for lighter voices.
Kurva.
Hungarian profanity feels appropriate for the situation. English equivalents seem insufficient for this level of cultural embarrassment.
I've violated fundamental neighbor etiquette without realizing. Worse, I've potentially created the exact kind of disturbance that draws unwanted attention to orcish residents. Immigration authorities monitor noise complaints, looking for patterns that suggest "cultural incompatibility" or "failure to integrate."
One complaint becomes documentation. Documentation becomes case history. Case history becomes grounds for visa review.
The cycle I've spent four countries trying to avoid.
But M. Ruiz chose personal communication over official channels. She could have contacted building management, filed formal complaints, involved local authorities. Instead, she extended courtesy I probably don't deserve.
Professional courtesy demands professional response.
I retreat to my flat and retrieve writing materials. Not the university letterhead, too formal for personal correspondence. Plain paper, black ink, handwriting careful enough to demonstrate respect without appearing overly studied.
First draft:
Dear Ms. Ruiz,
Thank you for your courteous note regarding acoustic disturbances. I sincerely apologize for any disruption my morning routine has caused. As a linguistics professor, I conduct daily pronunciation exercises that I failed to consider might affect neighboring residents.
I pause, pen hovering above paper. The explanation sounds academic, but also potentially concerning. Linguistics professor conducting vocal exercises could suggest anything from harmless language practice to ritualistic chanting, depending on cultural perspective.
And morning routine implies this will continue, just modified. M. Ruiz might prefer complete cessation rather than volume adjustment.
Second draft:
Dear Ms. Ruiz,
I received your note regarding morning noise disturbances and want to apologize immediately for the disruption to your work. I was completely unaware that my activities were audible to other residents.
I understand the importance of quiet working conditions, particularly for deadline-driven professions. Please allow me to adjust my schedule to ensure this doesn't continue.
Better. Acknowledges fault without defensive explanations. Promises concrete action rather than vague consideration.
But "activities" sounds deliberately vague. Evasive. Like I'm hiding something that requires concealment.
Third draft:
Dear Ms. Ruiz,
Thank you for bringing the noise issue to my attention, and please accept my sincere apologies. I conduct language pronunciation practice each morning and failed to consider how sound travels between units.
As someone who works with words professionally, I deeply understand the need for quiet concentration. I'll immediately adjust my practice schedule to avoid early morning hours.
Again, my apologies for the disruption.
