“Literacy” in this context means more than learning to read and write; it is what students know about a certain subject—and how they came to know it. Students will investigate their own relationships to language, written and spoken, borrowing from their experience in this piece.
Write 800 to 1,000 words.
Post your literacy narratives in this section. And also bring a typed, double-spaced copy to class on the due date.
You can post your literacy narratives here, as a comment. And please also bring a copy to class on Thursday, Feb.27!
2/20/20
Laurent J. Richard
Literacy Narrative Paper
Professor Moore
“How Language Has Affected Me, My Surroundings, Life Experiences, And Writing”
When first learning about this assignment I didn’t really know where, or how, to
begin. My writing exercise on my literacy issue actually helped to give me an idea of how I could put this paper together. Professor Moore definitely helped when he mentioned how changes to vocabulary overtime was a great topic for this paper. My terminology has altered a great deal since I was a child. Many things having affected it like family, school, work, surroundings, different types of music, the internet and even becoming a father.
I would like to first start off with family and my upbringings. Growing up with my
mother as the head of the household education was something which was stressed repeatedly, especially after my father when I was 4. My mother always told me the way I speak and carry myself says a lot about my character as a person. I was raised speaking English and would read all manner of books for personal and educational gain. It was insisted constantly to speak properly when I was talking to my mother. My grandmother, would visit often from Haiti to help take care of me. However, not knowing much English, our time together would, ultimately turn into an educational experience. She would point at things, such as a chair, window, or the bathroom and translate it for me. With repetition, gradually I learned Haitian Creole. I nevergot around to writing Creole, nor did I need to. I don’t really know of a time where it interfered with my educational assignments or personal writing in general either.
School was and still is a place where my writing is affected in a positive way, and by being taught different forms of writing throughout my school years and testing me with diverse composition exercises, my teachers and professors, have been influential to the increase of my literacy achievements. For example, topics, like the one at hand with the help of dictionary and thesauruses are to get me thinking of usage and placement of words.
One thing I have noticed working in different industries is, I have cultivated many new
words pertaining to the English language, while I went from being a sales associate at Foot Locker, to working as an outside Sales Concierge for the New York Water Taxi, to being a Hotel Concierge, now to working Front Desk at a Hotel. All previous, and current, jobs I’ve encountered, have put me in a position that allows me to experience a portion of multiple cultures, hear multiple languages, and pick up words here and there. I was able to attain a little Spanish throughout my life, which I have had to use to help speaking to guests of Hispanic backgrounds. Working in the hospitality industry, I am consistently composing emails to guests, where I have to make sure my writing is very proper, and that I use, what some in our line of work would consider, “hospitality terms” when describing reservations or the hotel.
Now I can touch base on how my surroundings have affected my language and
writing. I was born in Canarsie, Brooklyn, but raised in Bayside, Queens. Canarsie is considered to be a middle-class Caribbean neighborhood, while Bayside is more of an upper middle-class neighborhood which is predominately occupied by Caucasians, Asians, and some Black and Hispanic folks. I have a funny story which occurred when I was probably like 10 or 11, and my cousins from Brooklyn came over to my house in Queens. We were hanging out at the park playing basketball and my cousin, Anthony, pulls me to the side and asks “Why do you talk like that?”. I replied “What do you mean? Talk like what?” He goes “You know, why do you sound so proper or like a white boy?” I had to laugh because I didn’t really agree with this statement. I explained to him that I can’t really talk with my friends out here the way I talk when I’m with my cousins and friends in Brooklyn. This was something I have dealt with for a long time, and may have even caused some identity issues. When I would go visit them, they would proclaim “You see, you talk different when you are with us here in Brooklyn!” As I got older, I started to get a sense or awareness, of what they meant. In Brooklyn, everyone talks more with a laid back vibe or slang especially since we are so influenced by the Hip-Hop culture. Instead of saying “Hi” or “Hey”, we say “What’s up”, or “What’s goodie”, or even “What’s shaking?” Slang is a form of talking that’s very comfortable to me, more so than speaking properly. I mean, being from New York, and speaking to others from different states, some of the words and phrases we use, yet have different meanings.
Music and the internet have also been influential to my manner of speaking and
writing. New words are constantly being developed on a daily basis. I feel this is more of a generational change because my parents didn’t grow up with the internet and the music back then wasn’t the same as what we listen to now. Sometimes people like to shorten words while texting, that make me want to scratch my head and figure out what in the world they are saying. Two of the more popular abbreviations see are “LOL”, which stands for laughing out loud, or “BRB” which means be right back with the list going on and on. As far as music goes, I am an avid Hip Hop fan, and the word “Facts”, is used regularly in Hip-Hop music and culture. It refers to someone clarifying that what you said to be true.
You may be wondering how becoming a father has affected the way I speak and
write. I am a father to a young boy, soon to be two years-old and have to be very weary of certain words I use around him because his little brain is like a sponge and will pick up on these things. I can admit, when I am around my friends I tend to curse a lot, or what some of our parents would consider, ‘having a filthy mouth’. For example, my mom hates with a passion when I say “Yo son”. It actually makes her blood boil to hear me speak this way, but I try my best to explain to her that this is just how my friends and I communicate with one another. However, now that I am a parent she is always telling me about how the way I speak will rub off on my son, therefore I try to be more conscience of this. I’m not going to lie it is quite difficult, and I’ve even let my son listen to some of the music I like. He seems to be developing an ear and liking for Hip-Hop music.
In all you can see how my language and the way I speak and write differs
depending on the circumstance at hand. It is funny because I never really thought about any of this until I was given this assignment. There are many ways in which my vocabulary can be influenced both in a positive and negative way. I believe all these things can help me become an even better writer regardless on who my audience is, at some time, I believe I should speak, and write, the way I feel most comfortable, showing my authenticity in my terminology and as a writer.
Picking up a book is a traumatic experience for me, I never end up reading past the first paragraph, and just end up watching Videos if i’m trying to learn new information. Writing on the other hand comes so natural to me, once the pen is in my hand it does not stop until i have expressed my idea fully. When i was younger i was so confident in my writing ability, that i would visualise myself as an author or a public speaker or other professions that would require me to use my words to convey a bigger idea. Recently, I have been trying to read more. I actually read a book for the first time over this summer, the book itself was ok, but it gave me a new outlet, for me to travel in to the book and get away from my own life for a while.
My experience with language is an unusual one, I would like to have said unique, but i don’t believe at Baruch it is quite so. I am so encouraged by diversity, Myself having learnt two Different languages simultaneously. I always found English easier than my mother tongue Hindi, probably because I attended a French Military School. There was a strict emphasis on speaking English throughout the school and you were only allowed to speak in Hindi in class. This formulated my habit of reading in english, writing in english and even speaking english, even with my parents. Even though I struggled with it, my mother tongue is something I take great pride in, for whatever little of the language I know. I believe it is probably easier to learn multiple languages growing up, rather than just one, as the back and forth translation gave me a stronger grip on my language and helped me find my own dialect.
Despite growing up with LBLDs like Dyslexia and Dysphagia, which impared my ability to read, and took reading out of practice for me. I always considered myself to have a way with words. At certain times it was my strongest asset, when my elder brother and i would fall into disagreement, his best option was to Appeal by force, by threatening me or chasing after me in order to beat me up. I soon stopped running and instead held my ground and used my words to defend myself. His brain, not being as strong as mine, could not handle the verbal abuse and i would win, By insulting him, or speaking like a true politician to get what i want. Politics was something i was quite interested in as a younger, how they are able to persuade entire nations to succumb to their wishes using language and empowering words. However, as I grew older, I looked to more literary sources of poetic works, as I learnt more about my surroundings and developed my very own version of culture.
Recently, I have found a new form of creative expression through music and sound. I often need words to fill up places in my music, in order to explicitly get across a specific idea. This often comes in the form of poetic lines or full fledged lyrics, but having the background and interest in poetry has helped me further my progress. But In my opinion, my greatest writing strength simply comes from varied perspectives, having lived on both coasts and on both sides of the planet. I often have a different way of looking at things, maybe in ways that other people may overlook.
Moving to the US is what makes my relation to language so peculiar. The people here speak in a different dialect, different from the rest of the world and polar to mine. Not many people where I come from get an opportunity like mine to study on the other side of the planet. I adapted however, I even changed my accent in order to have more fluent conversations. The people here say certain words differently than I do. But it is also the place where I have learnt about Language the most. Nowhere else have I met students of the caliber that I have in the United States. The locals who have known nothing but English their entire lives growing up have a special degree of knowledge when it comes to vocabulary, sentence structure and all the idiocracies of English. Having learnt through poems by local legends such as Rabindranath Tagore, having varying length of sentences and ignoring most of the strict rules of English, I have a more free approach to writing.
Language is one of my greatest strengths despite my LBLDs, it is my form of creative expression and an ability to defend myself with words. Now I have set new goals for myself in order to progress my language skills further, maybe reading more books or even writing more song lyrics. I’m excited for the next part of the process.
I love to write. I always have, it’s therapeutic and satisfying. I was never good at drawing or painting, writing is my art form. Something about creating art with words is infatuating. I idolized Charlotte’s Web, Trumpet of the Swan and Little House on the Prairie growing up. How did these writers so flawlessly paint a picture with nothing but words? Eve, My 5th grade teacher made me question my passive relationship with writing. Instead of reading and admiring E.B. White’s work, I should start writing my own. At 12 years old, I desperately sought out thesauri and dictionaries to help me develop understanding and ended up attempting to read these resources from cover to cover. I discovered that you can articulate one thing in an infinite amount of ways. It is easy for me to sit down and write what I mean, the word choice I use is deliberate. Yet verbally, I have had trouble with this, and still do.
When I am writing with pencil on paper, I can meticulously choose each word to write and if I don’t like it, well, I can erase it. I spend an eternity writing one sentence, just to get it to flow the way I intend it to. However, when I speak, I can’t take back the things I say. There are several instances in which I would like to. I am an impulsive and passionate person so I tend to say things I don’t mean or maybe, whoever I am speaking to doesn’t understand my intention—this is the problem with language, it is hard to communicate with no common ground. Sometimes my tone of voice says something different than what the words themselves vocalize. When I write, no one can misunderstand me—it is my world that I create within the page and how the reader may interpret it may vary. But I feel okay sleeping with myself at night knowing that I said what I wanted to say. With the specific diction I chose.
My relationship with writing may have been love at first sight, but this has not been the case with verbal language. You would never know oral speaking was my nemesis because I talk so much. I constantly find myself trying to regulate my tendency to cut people off while I am sharing a dialogue with them. Dialogue. Two people conversing, not one. I constantly remind myself of this.
What I have struggled with more than interrupting people in conversation is articulation. Although I don’t hesitate sharing my thoughts and comments, the word choice I use often doesn’t convey what I mean off the bat. I raise my hand in class, confident in what I am about to share to then find myself doubting my words somewhere in between me opening my mouth and uttering them. I know what I am trying to say, but my mind doesn’t seem to deliver it quite right, ultimately butchering my comment by conveying something I didn’t mean, or more frequently I feel I don’t even mention my most important point. I ramble on and on trying to clarify but most of what I say is fluff.
This is precisely why I prefer writing. There is no explanation needed for my words, my work stands alone. I don’t need to clarify because I had time to think about my choice in language and time to edit my thoughts before I share them with the rest of the world. One of my favorite things about writing is the alluring language you can use to create a scene. This pleasing language is the reason I fell in love with reading initially. “The kitchen table was set for breakfast, and the room smelled of coffee, bacon, damp plaster, and wood smoke from the stove.” This line from Charlotte’s Web has stuck with me since the first time I read it. It is simple yet so powerful and authentic, I can smell the kitchen. I long to create stories where my audience can feel what I am describing. And to be honest, I can’t do this with verbal words. I don’t use poetic language to talk on a day to day basis. Crafting a scene that immerses the reader in the world you’ve created takes time. You have more space to create your world and also, suspend your disbelief. When speaking, it’s hard to make something abstract feel real. With writing, I have the power to create an illusion and that to me is my own kind of superpower.
As I grow as a writer, I believe my spoken language has been improving alongside it. Honing in on my writing techniques and continuing to read books, has illuminated so many different styles of communication. I am actively trying to take into account how writers use language to express their ideas effectively and translate this into my own communication. I just need to remember to think before I speak.
Nanek Singh
Growing up in a household where multiple languages are spoken can have its pros and cons but overall it shapes one’s understanding of their primary language. I specifically remember one occasion when I was nine years old and my parents had invited their friends over, I opened the door and said “Hello” the guest walked in and said “Sat Sri Akal”, the next guest walked in and said “Namaste”. It took me a minute to realize that we all had just greeted each other but in three different languages, English, Punjabi, and Hindi. It was also in that instant that I realized I had been confusing two different languages from the Indian subcontinent my whole life.
Although my parents came to the United States at a very young age and have American accents, they never forgot their roots and continue to speak both Punjabi and Hindi to this day. Punjabi is a language that comes from the Indian state of Punjab. Less than 2% of the Indian population speaks Punjabi; the vast majority speaks Hindi and it’s the language that my parents grew up speaking in school and with friends. When conversing amongst themselves, my parents speak Punjabi, when speaking with friends who aren’t of Punjabi decent, they speak Hindi, and when speaking to me, they speak both English and Punjabi. This is how I became conversational in the language.
At a very young age I was unintentionally learning a new language. I recall being a child and telling my father “I’m hungry”, and he quickly yelled across the house to my mother and said “Simran, Nanek nu kuch caan nu dey”. The fact that he said my name, and that my mother brought me food right after implied that he was asking her to make me something to eat. I was subconsciously learning Punjabi. While learning new languages is a great thing, it did have some negative effects on me as a child that I look back at and laugh. On my first sleepover in elementary school I wanted to ask my friend’s mother for a comforter but I kept saying the word rajai. It was so embarrassing as I had never heard the word comforter before and she had to call my mother to find out what I was saying. While this wasn’t necessarily a big deal, there are several instances in my life where I knew how to say something in Punjabi but couldn’t say it in English; it made me realize that English is in fact an incomplete language and that there are certain words that don’t have a translation into English. For example, when having a conversation in English and referring to either of your parent’s siblings you simply call them your aunt and uncle. In Punjabi there are specific words that you used to refer to your father’s older brother, your thaia, and his younger brother, your chacha, and his sister, your bua. The same goes for your mother, her brother is your mama, and her sister is your masi. Simply put, there are words for every single type of relationship in Punjabi, so there is no need to clarify your audience on which side of the family your aunt or uncle come from, which side grandma and grandpa come from, etc.
This impacted my relationship to language immensely. I wanted to become more conversational in Punjabi and learn new things in the language that I wouldn’t be able to learn in English. As a child, when my father would say jokes to his friends in Punjabi I wouldn’t be able to understand them due to my lack of fluency in the language, when I asked him to translate it to English, he would say that there is no translation and that the meaning would be totally different. As I grew older and more fluent in the language, I was able to understand those jokes and the humor behind it. And indeed, the meaning was totally different. I felt unique to be able to understand this language and the humor behind certain jokes, but at the same time I was saddened that I couldn’t share the jokes with my friends due to their inability to be translated.
Through middle school and high school we were required to study a foreign language. I chose Spanish. I picked it up fairly easily as I was already bilingual. Through the years of studying the language my relationship to it was very similar to Punjabi. I quickly learned that just like Punjabi, there were multiple words, phrases, jokes, etc that couldn’t be translated to English. I once again felt fortunate to know another language and communicate with a group of people in a way that was impossible in my primary language.
My relationship to language is a unique one. Language has enabled me to converse with people of different cultures and backgrounds. Language has taught me how to greet someone with respect, and how to greet someone more casually. Language has taught me ways to communicate with people that I can’t in my primary language. Language has not only expanded my vocabulary and intelligence, but also my humor, something that I had never imagined.
Language has always been and will always be a vehicle for people to interact with others. Whether it is nonsense, or an important matter, speech is the what enables people to express their feelings. There are endless variations of language throughout the world, English alone can be spoken in many different ways. The English we speak today was not thou language they spoke back in the 13th century. All languages evolve. They start out one way, and year after year more words and ways to speak are introduced. It would be peculiar for an English speaking man or women to use the dialect they used hundreds of years back. There are also different ways of speaking that same language, depending on what setting one may be in. A high school kid may speak in a more slang manner, while a lawyer may speak more formally. Correspondingly, it would be strange for a 19 year old kid to be speaking like a politician to his fellow soccer mates. As a young kid I was taught Hebrew, but it turns out I was learning, as a fellow player put it, “the wrong one.”
On October 26th, 2018 I stepped aboard El Al’s Boeing 787-9 airplane heading to Tel Aviv, Israel. I was to attend part time school there, and more importantly play semiprofessional soccer for “Beit Shemesh.” I was nervous about a lot of things, but the one thing that never crossed my mine was how well my Hebrew would hold up because I had learned it in school for the past twelve years. I did well in all my Hebrew language classes, and enjoyed speaking it too. Sadly I was in for a surprise. Only after my second day in Israel I had my first practice with my new team. The night before I went over some common soccer terms I thought I may need on the field. “Shoot”, “Pass”, “Here” were all terms I searched up to make sure I knew. I arrived at practice a few minutes late because I had trouble finding the field, and walked in when the team was stretching in a circle. I quickly dropped my bag off to the side and let out the word “ברכה” (greetings), a word I will never forget. Immediately after I said this phrase people turned and looked at me as if I said something funny, so I smiled along. At the time I did not think much of it, maybe just smiling and chuckling to be friendly. After stretches the coach blew his piercing whistle, “.בוא נלך. בוא הנה” (Lets go everyone. Bring it in). The whole team stopped we were doing and stood before the coach. He had some introductory remarks, then split us into groups for tactical training. I joined my group and introduced my self, “היי חברים שמי מקס” (hi friends my name is max), others followed suit. Yet, as the conversations started to build I was having a harder time understanding. They turned to me and said “מאיפה אתה” (where are you from), for which I responded “אני גר באמריקה” (I am from America) and yet again another funky look. One kid then asked me if I speak Hebrew. I was confused by this question. I asked myself “Was I not just speaking to him in Hebrew?” Another kid followed by saying “אתה מדבר בצורה מאוד רשמית. תשובה תמיד על ידי שינוי מחדש של השאלה” (Ya, you speak very formally. Always answering by restating the question first). It was at this point I looked back ten minutes ago, and realized the whole team was not smiling because the outfit that took me two hours to choose looked good, but because I said “greetings” to a bunch of teenagers. Practice after practice I started to realize people constantly making fun of my Hebrew, almost waiting for me to speak so they can rag on the faults in my articulation. As the confidence in my Hebrew started to decay, so did my play. The language barrier between me and my team not only affected my social status, but also how I preformed on the pitch.
Shortly after I started to feel outcasted, the way I played the game on the field changed. I no longer was confident in the passes I made, or the shots I took. I questioned every move, seeking the approval from those around me. I did not want to make any mistakes, in fear of the reaction I may receive from those around me in return. Additionally, my coach realized the decline in my play, and therefore did not play me as much in games. While one may be reading this waiting for the upside, that was not the case for me. Shortly after all of this happened, I re-tore my ACL and stop playing for this team. While language can be used for many amazing things, it can also be used for the wrong. Although one may infer that because of this occurrence I no longer enjoy the language, it is the total opposite. I took it upon my self to take advantage of the time I had left in Israel, even if I wasn’t playing soccer, and learn more about the language and culture. Im proud to say I’m happy I did. Not only did my fluency in Hebrew improve immensely, but my love for the land as well.
How Proper Use of Language Can Help You Achieve Success and Influence People
Have you ever wondered how people perceive you as a person? How do they look at you? What do they tell their friends about you?
When it comes to evaluating someone, every single tiny detail matters. We as humans tend to analyze a person as a whole and, based on our judgments, subconsciously make our own opinion, whether we like, trust or hate him. For instance, you can take the same exact guy and dress him in 3 different ways creating 3 absolutely different opinions. People will perceive him as rich or poor, humble or rebellious, serious or childish. We can do exactly the same with the way we use the words. You can convey exactly the same information and invoke completely different feelings. You can tell very bad news and make a person frustrated or smile. You can make the biggest foe you can imagine or you can start a great life-long friendship. You can be hated by many or be loved by masses. How can you possibly accomplish all of these and influence people’s feelings? The answer is simple – by simply being smart with language.
From ancient Greek philosophers and Roman emperors to modern-day politicians and other public figures – all of them understood the importance of language. They mastered the art of speaking and learned how to influence the minds of millions. National leaders were able to raise the crowd and make it fight on their side in meaningless wars. Politicians are able to completely change mindsets of masses and turn them one against another. Even regular salespeople are capable of selling completely worthless penny stocks to you using only their phone and words.
Mastering the art of language is undoubtedly essential, but the question is how can you do that? Although the answer lays down deep into such a complicated science like psychology, there’re some useful tips you can use.
First of all, you have to understand that when it comes to influencing people it’s all about the sale. You sell your idea and yourself, as a personal brand to others. It completely changes the way people see and perceive you, making them more or less likely to accept your ideas. In order for others to buy you have to be confident in yourself and your language. After all, if you are not sure about your beliefs, what are you to convince other people about them? It all begins with the right mindset and only gets better as you practice. Do you want to be on the buyer’s or seller’s side? Do you want to sell or to be sold? Consider the language you’re using – if you want to be confident so others can follow you, you want your language to sound confident. Build a solid argument, based on facts, numbers from statistics and using proper language.
You may ask me, what is defined as a proper language? The answer is I don’t know. Language heavily varies from person to person and case by case so “proper” form of it is not always the same. Actually, it’s a great idea to adjust your language to a person you’re speaking with. He talks slower – you talk slower, he uses some casual words – you can use them too. The only thing you should never adjust is your level of confidence – you always want to be in control of the conversation. For instance, if you’re negotiating with your partner about how’re you going to split the profits you basically want to use business English and stay away from slang. But if you’re talking to your friends or you’re trying to educate a cranky child it makes more sense to use casual language. If you’re going to use a “one fits all” approach you’ll face a huge gap between you and others.
Language is not all about you expressing your ideas and annoying people. Being a good listener is as important as being a good speaker. In fact, there’re some situations where you can not drop a single word and completely win someone over. How’s it even possible? Simply by not being a cold stranger(even if you are) and listening to problems of others. Some people do not care about your advice or your opinion, they just want to be heard. Therefore, all you have to do is fulfill their need. You can be the world’s best orator but it doesn’t mean a thing when the only person he wants to listen to is himself. Remember, it all comes down to giving the people what THEY need, not what YOU need.
Most of the time, however, just listening to someone is not enough. You have to genuinely care about the subject. Try to understand other people’s problems and introduce them to sound solutions. By doing this, you’re showing them that you’re on the same page and they can trust you. You can take advertisement companies as an example. It’s extremely hard to win the customer’s trust when everyone is claiming “We’re the best 2020 NYC Restaurant!” Or “We offer the cheapest prices!”. That’s why businesses are trying to be creative and get on the same level with customers to better understand their demands. Same with language, to win your readers/listeners’ trust you have to be creative to catch people’s attention and distinguish yourself from the crowd. Fortune favors the bold, so don’t be afraid to try a new way to present information or make a loud “clickbait” headline or anything else that might come to your mind. Language is incredibly big so you’re only limited with your own imagination.
In conclusion, I’d like to add that the only way for you to become better in language is through practice. Also, it’s a sound idea to learn from others who already achieved a certain level in this craft. Keep in mind, that you have to be very picky with it since bad help, bad advice or simply a bad environment can negatively affect the way you use language. But that’s another literacy narrative’s topic.
“How my dislike for reading affects my writing and speaking”
I was always advised by my teachers, parents and grandparents to read books, newspapers, signs and pretty much anything of that sort whenever I get the chance. My grandmother would always buy me “interesting” books such as ‘Nancy Drew’ and ‘Harry Potter’ as a means of encouraging me to read. She would always say to me “You must find the time for reading, or surrender yourself to self-chosen ignorance”, a popular quote by Confucius. Of course, as a youngling, that was of no interest to me and unfortunately it still is somewhat uninteresting to me. It was my 10th birthday, when I received this gift from my grandmother. I remember myself bursting with energy and excitement when she gave me the gift bag. I was so excited that I could barely unwrap the gift, and in a matter of seconds my mouth fell to the floor. I thought to myself “what the shit is this? how is this a gift?”, then I gave her the most insincere smile and pretended as if I was really pleased. She would ask me “How do you like the book Britney? and I would reply “I love it”, knowing damn well I haven’t even read the first sentence. It was so difficult for me to willingly take up a book and read it, and if I did, I would just read something without even trying to understand what it was saying. “Resisting the Boss”, a book by Whitney G, is the only exception, it was the most beautiful thing I have ever read but I still couldn’t find myself finishing it.
It started to become a problem once I started high school, where unlike middle school, instead of having teachers telling you everything you should know, I had to read on my own to get a full understanding of the topics. I also had to do researches and presentations, which both required a lot of reading, thinking and speaking This was very essential in the many theoretical subjects that I took which included: Biology, History, Information Technology, Literature, Social Studies and so on. I noticed that in Literature to be specific, I had and still do have extreme difficulties answering essay type questions that asks to “explain the effectiveness of”, “discuss the use of”, “how does the writer portray”, “explain the significance of”, “examine a technique..”, ”describe the setting of” etc. These questions were normally based on the textbooks for this course. I would read the book just for the sake of reading it, however, if you asked me what I read I was unable to tell you. This is because I didn’t try to understand what I was reading, I just read because I had to. This affected me in a negative way because I always fail my Literature quizzes and exams. I was completely discouraged about this subject and I was eager to be done with it. Whenever I had presentations, I would prepare information only on what I was presenting and I had to think about questions that persons would possibly ask me and practice how I would answer it. One class, my teacher asked me a question that completely caught me off guard. Though it was about the presentation, I didn’t think that he would ask me that and I paused for the longest while trying think about what he is really asking me and what I am going to say.
Explaining myself is another issue, I can explain what I am thinking or feeling but not right off the bat. I have to think for a long while, gather my thoughts and try to choose the correct words so I won’t come across as vague or ambiguous. I think this is because my vocabulary is so limited, so I may be thinking the right thing, but I don’t know what word to use. On the other hand, I am able to express myself effectively in “Jamaican patois”. This language doesn’t necessarily require me to use complicated words since it is “broken English”, it is expressed through simple words, gesture and drama. Hence, why I believe my limited vocabulary prevents me from expressing myself well in standard English. I never thought of this until lately. I was having a conversation with an English-speaking American when I found myself trying to focus on what I was saying. Shortly after, my best-friend called me, I noticed that I was so confident in what I was saying and that the words came right off the tip of my tongue, since I was speaking in “patois”. Though English is my native language I consider it to be my “formal language” and “patois” my informal language.
I have been working on my language in terms of how I speak and write by trying to read more and making notes of words that I am not familiar with. I am also learning to focus on what I am reading about and not just read for reading’s sake. So far, these techniques have been helping me to express myself better in all aspects of language. Not only in my Writing class, but in my other courses and my daily life.
Despite the winter weather outside, my forehead and palms were sweating as if it was one of the warmest days of summer. I could feel my heart beating so fast as if it would burst out of my chest. A certain feeling of loneliness surrounded my head even though I was sitting at the center of the class with classmates all around me. A tall figure entered the class with a bag and cup of coffee in his right hand. “Good morning students! I am your English teacher Ashraf Hossain and welcome to third grade” were the first words I heard at my new ‘English’ elementary school. These words might seem simple, but they felt like heavy weights since I was not familiar with hearing them back then.
I used the word ‘English’ because till second grade I studied at a ‘Bengali’ school where English was rarely spoken. Even though I understood English, due to a hobby of reading English books, but I highly doubted my writing and speaking skills which eventually led to anxiety on my first day there. Will I be one of them? Will I be accepted by my classmates if I can’t communicate with them in proper English? Will my teachers like me if I fail to respond in standard English? The first day felt like eternity.
I was born in a country where English is not the first language. English is a formal language used in the office or newspapers. Bangladesh and I share the mother tongue of Bengali. I studied at a Bengali school where English was non-existent. After second grade, my parents decided to admit me in an English elementary school where Bengali had little importance. Leaving my friends and starting at a new environment was what concerned me the most at that time. I was sad about it but had nothing to do about it since the verdict came from my ‘Supreme Court’, my Dad. I struggled a lot during the first year there and felt lonely since I couldn’t communicate with my fellow peers due to lack of confidence in speaking English. In class I used to sit at the last bench so that the teachers would not notice me or ask any questions. All this eventually led me fail some of the exams, where I understood everything but articulating them into words was where I lacked the most. My parents were both concerned and disappointed with the results. In the parent-teacher conference my mother asked Mr. Ashraf about what went wrong the whole year. I thought he would complain about how introverted I was but surprisingly I was wrong. “Nothing went wrong Mrs.Hussyne, it is normal for a student to adjust to a different school with different practices. I promise to take care of that, and you’ll see a different Dewan next year.” Mr. Ashraf smiled confidently.
Fourth grade started exactly how my third grade ended. I struggled from day one. But on the third day of English class, something different happened. Everyone hurried out because it was lunch break. I started to head to the door when Mr. Ashraf asked to speak with me. “From now on you will not have an hour-long lunch break but instead you will have your lunch in the room and participate in an extra session of English class with me.” I had a lot to say but my lack of confidence forced me to only utter the word ‘Okay’. Hence started my battle with the English language. I watched classmates play in the field while I sat alone in the class listening to my teacher’s lecture. It was boring at first, but as time passed, I could feel the change I was going through and it felt great since I was winning the battle. Mr. Ashraf would focus on different fields of English and help me learn with ease and efficiency. His homework assignments were enjoyable and encouraging since they involved watching movies and videos. Soon I was able to write and speak quite fluently. I even gained the confidence to communicate with my classmates and make friends. My friend Woasi from elementary school was reminiscing this Friday and he said, “I thought you were weird and shy but since you started doing extra classes with Mr. Ashraf your English transformed and I think you achieved the confidence to be yourself.” By the end of the year, I was one of the strongest writers and speakers in my class. My grades improved in every other subject. I made friends and most importantly, I was proud of myself. In my final parent-teacher conference my mother and I thanked Mr. Ashraf for all the effort and labor he gave for my improvement. I know thanks was not enough, but he will always have an important place in my heart. I still remember one of his quotes, “If English is an art, try to be an artist”. Such quotes motivated and encouraged me throughout that year and it still does.
When I moved to America, two years ago, the struggle of accents emerged. Day to day conversation became tough. People gave me looks. My cousin Arika helped me by speaking in English rather than Bengali which I preferred at home back in Bangladesh. She was born here so her language is more American than mine. Bengali people use the British version of English, which can be different from American English. I had to alter the spelling and pronunciation of certain words like color versus colour. Certain words differ in meaning, like in British English ‘Holiday’ means a vacation but in American English it means a day of celebration. I might have won the battle back in fourth grade, but this is a battle I am still fighting and hope to win soon.
Every time we finished a novel in my AP Literature class, my teacher, Mr. Friedman would always pick on random students to share their opinions on the book. I always followed my full proof procedure to avoid being chosen, avoid eye contact, lower your gaze, and look busy by writing notes or doodling. However, there was one instance where my “full proof procedure” turned out to be anything but. We had just finished reading Frankenstein by Mary Shelley and I had the wonderful opportunity to be asked the dreaded question “What did you think of the book?” The room fell silent, heads turned and all eyes were on me. I felt the heat radiate from my already red cheeks and began to ring my fingers forming a tangled mess and filled the silence of the room with mumbled filler words like um, and uh. I wanted to share my interest in Mary Shelley’s ability to blur the line between being good and being bad, but as soon as I opened my mouth to speak, my mind went blank and the only thing I was aware of were the many pairs of awaiting eyes. I managed to pull out a few words, “I liked it”.
I have never been the type to verbally share my opinions or thoughts, it did not come as easy to me as it came to others. During conversations, instead of participating in them I am busy battling myself in my mind for when to enter, or for what to say, and most of the time when I have finally chosen what I want to say and rehearse it in my mind a few times, the conversation has usually changed topics and the battle begins again. When I do say something, I would repeat it over and over again in my head, and think about how I could have said it better, or sometimes regret I said anything at all. I replay conversations in my head and imagine the different routes it could have taken if I had said something different, and I did this for every single conversation, long ones with friends, and even breif good mornings with neighbors. I constantly observed the way people spoke to each other, trying to pick up techniques I could use to speak more normally or to try to pinpoint what I was doing wrong. I yearned to be able to speak freely like others but found that verbal speech was not built for shy people like me.
But there was one form of speech that gave me all the time I needed to choose what to say, and how to say it. It was writing. With writing, I did not have to worry about everyone observing or worry about a time frame. Writing came freely to me as talking did to others, and in a way, writing became my way of talking. I was finally able to express my thoughts and opinions and did it all the time, on Instagram captions, YouTube comments, while texting, on the margins of the books I read, anywhere and everywhere I could, maybe to make up for all the time I spent being quiet.
There was one instance in Mr. Friedman’s class where we were asked to write poems, that was it, he just told us to write. He did not give a specific length, or subject, that was up to us. While doing the assignment I did not hold back, I wrote from deep within me. I did not think about whether he was going to ask us to read it aloud to the class or not, I did not think about what someone was going to think after reading the poem. The words came easily, it was not the best thing ever written, but I wrote freely, and with confidence I don’t think I had ever experienced before.
When we brought our poems to class the next day I was mortified to find that a majority of the class had relied on the school’s library’s printer, which decidedly chose not to work that day. Most of the class had emailed their poems to Mr. Friedman, so when asked to read their poems aloud they said they did not have it. Finally, he asked me, panic bubbled inside of me and without thinking I turned the paper with the poem that was sitting on my desk around and claimed not to have it either. Fooling no one I was greeted with a few chuckles and was told by Mr. Friedman himself, that I was a terrible liar. I knew that there was no way I was going to get out of reading my poem, so I took a deep breath, suppressed my anxiety and presented my poem. Although my cheeks were radiating heat, and my fingers were a tangled mess, I was confident in what I wrote. I did not stutter or mumble, and I did not think about what people were thinking. Once I was finished I was surprised to be greeted with applause, and a response from Mr. Friedman that I will follow through with for the rest of my life, “keep on writing”.
Mohammad Jahangir
Professor Christopher Moore
English 2100
03 February, 2020
In the words of Nazia Nazir, a counselor at the British Association for Counseling and Psychotherapy, “To experience is to be human”. These practical contacts with facts set a great impact on the people we grow into becoming. Growing up being bullied as a child, I was able to form a deep connection to words and how they had an effect on the people surrounded by you.
Shortly after my birth, my parents decided to move back to their homeland, Pakistan. This was a society where every aspect of you was critiqued — the way you looked, the way you dressed, and the place you lived in defined you. Lacking fluency in the local language, Urdu, and being overweight I was always marked as the odd one out, as I remember a time when I was called, ” Someone that didn’t belong here”. Very harsh words for a kid to be digesting. It felt as if none of the odds were in my favor. School was a nightmare, a bombardment of taunts and ridicules. Every part of being outside my house felt horrible and it is so difficult describing what one is going through at that time. Everything scares you. You feel as if the ridicules made to your name are not only explicit but also exist implicitly. Every whisper, every murmur, every sentence from your peers haunts you. It feels as if everything is directed towards you. The insecurity and self-embarrassment are at its peak. Struggling with obesity was a challenge in itself, but keeping up with these ridicules took a huge part of me. Looking back to those days I wonder how their words made me feel, how their tones would make my heart pound, how their taunts distracted me and made me feel so conscious about myself. At a very young age, this experience taught me the defense mechanism that came with my language. To think of it now I see myself practically implementing the very concept. Putting it into practice I realized I did not need a physical attribute to defend myself; my words, my tone and my level of self-confidence were enough. I actually found myself scaring away bullies and every one of those who ridiculed. I came to the conclusion of how much might these words held. The best way I can express this is, imagine yourself standing in the 7 train, while a complete stranger happens to compliment your clothes. How does that make you feel? Happy, right? You feel confident, you feel good about yourself. Now to think of it that guy just said 2 words, ” Nice outfit “, but these words were good enough to make you feel that way, probably even make a part of your day. Thinking of that brings me to a bigger picture, of how generals lead wars and motivational speakers influence nations. They all use words, mere words. The level of power these voices slipping off our tongues’ hold is phenomenal. Yes, though I hated that part of my life, I got to learn something very valuable from it, I learned my value to words, regardless of the language. I understood how they affected those around me and represent who I am. The commonly known saying of ” Think before you speak” emphasizes the same fact.
I’ve grown to the understanding that these essential tools to a communication control a huge part of our lives and thought processes. I feel like this experience has stamped its impact on the person I am today. I now realize and understand that in reality, we all struggle with self-confidence from time to time. We forget what our worth is, how valuable our personality is, and how imperfectly perfect we are. We feel that the attributes of those around us mark what should be in a person. Lacking any of those physical attributes makes us feel less of ourselves. Learning that, I chose to be very sensitive to the words, tone, and body language I use around people. I’ve unknowingly developed a habit of passing on a compliment to the people I am surrounded by. While it doesn’t serve any benefit to me, I know for a definite that it boosts the self-confidence in the other. Referring back to my earlier example of receiving a compliment in the train these little words could help someone so much without you even having the slightest clue.
Putting into consideration all of these facts, I feel like this helped me form a deep connection to words and languages. Also, a very thorough understanding of how words are body to a language, and how language serves as a representation of one’s ethics culture and principles. Going to a bigger hierarchy your language and style of speaking not only presents you as an individual, but also a representative of the people you come from. I feel as if understanding the strength and impact of these “atoms” of language would have been very difficult for me if I hadn’t shared such a personal experience with it.
As I learn more languages, my interpretation of the languages I already know changes. What is language? Well, it is defined as a system of communication. That’s it. No matter what two parties it is used by, if they understand each other it is a language. I grew up speaking English and Russian. Regardless of my parents being immigrants, their English is indistinguishable from any American. Being in America my parents made sure my English was fluent, but at the same time did not want me to lose my roots. So they also taught me Russian at the same time. But those are not the languages I am talking about.
I’m talking about computer languages. For one they are incredibly logical. If this then that. Do exactly what you are told. Nothing more and nothing less. That is the simplicity of computers. There is a beauty to it too. If you communicate in a way that cannot be subjectively understood, then you won’t ever have misunderstandings. In the case of computers, this results in the same results given the same code. But, if the code (language) is not properly formatted, it will not be understood. By anyone.
This is a massive contrast to the languages that people use to communicate with each other. In addition to the various methods that we use to transfer that language between entities. When people speak to each other, they must interpret what is being said to them by more than just what is said. Instead, we must use the context around the specific sentence, their facial expressions, bodily movement, along with the tone, volume, etc. Basically, the languages we use are not clear. This becomes an issue when we are not able to see the other factors that lead to us understanding what is being told to us. For example in written language, and when communicating over the phone. Which is what we mainly do.
If we spoke using the syntax (form) that we communicate with computers in, we would avoid so many issues. I was going to write about my family, but something popped up and I feel it would be better, so I am redoing this part of the essay. Something that I can’t get out of my mind. Today, (Feb 26) I ended the relationship with my girlfriend. The issue that led to this was purely based on her inability to understand what I was saying. There was too much mixed in, that led to her interpreting what I said in a different way. You may be wondering, what does this have to do with the differences between computer languages and human ones? Well, I used a computer language when I sent my message. To me it could only be interpreted one way, the way I thought was correct. It used logic and facts to come to a reasonable conclusion. But that is because I interpreted it logically, as a computer would. Not in the way an emotional human being would. Because of her situation, background, and personality. She interpreted my message in a non-factual and purely emotional way. I could go further into depth about this situation since I feel like there is a hole inside me right now. But I’ll save it for another time.
I would write more and more code. The way that I would think about situations and logic shifted. This does not only happen with code. In fact, I have observed that as I learn anything it alters everything. As I learn a new vocabulary word I change the way I speak to be able to include it. As I learn new languages like Spanish or Hebrew, I start speaking in a form that could be understood once translated. But mainly a different form of language entirely has the biggest effect. I think not only has my normalization of computer language changed my relationship to language, but it has also changed me as a person. Even more so now I try to think of situations and tribulations I am put in, with a logical approach. What will have the best outcome for me? What are the facts, not emotions. Emotions are important, but they are temporary therefore so are the benefits of following them. It gives immediate gratification, instead of what is the better thing to do for everyone and for the future.
The biggest thing that has come out of my thinking this way is that it helps me understand others a lot more. Instead of reacting to what they are saying in a way that is personal to me. I try to get at what they really mean, not how they are communicating it. Too many times we stress about the tiny things and create situations that should have never existed in the first place. If someone is upset about something, when they speak they can make another emotional person upset. Not benefiting any of the parties. But if we can start to understand language for what it actually means, instead of how we personally interpret it. We may be able to improve our lives beyond anything we imagine.
My Relationship with Language
I packed my bags and headed off to the airport. I was excited yet dreading this long experience ahead. It was the summer after my sophomore year and my father decided it was time for the whole family to take our first official trip to Guangzhou in China, my parents’ hometown.
In what felt like the blink of an eye despite being a 22-hour journey, I found myself on a plane bound for Shanghai and then a motorcoach to my final destination, Guangzhou. Yet, it never actually hit me that I was in China until six weeks passed and I landed back in New York City.
Living in China was one of the most rewarding experiences of my life. I was being immersed in a culture that I was incredibly unfamiliar with. It was the first time I had authentic Cantonese style dim sum and the first time I had ridden a motorcycle, clutching the waist of my father. My parents wanted me to reconnect with a culture that I called my own because I lived in such a predominantly Americanized community. However, at the same time, it presented me with many novel challenges in terms of language barriers.
One night after a movie in Guangzhou, I was at a bus stop waiting for my cousin, Sandy, to return from the restroom. An elderly woman approached me, bright red roses in hand. She spoke Chinese with a dialect that sounded unintelligible and a tone that was borderline distressed. I wasn’t sure what to do or say because I could not speak proper Cantonese. She started using hand motions to convey what she was trying to say, but I felt lost. I completely froze and the few minutes of my interaction with the lady felt like hours. Moments after, Sandy came back and approached us. The lady grabbed Sandy’s hand and shook it in a frantic manner. In one swift motion, Sandy pulled out her wallet and handed the woman over a 20-yuan bill, approximately three U.S. dollars, in exchange for the roses. I was so confused as to what I had just witnessed. After arriving home later that night, I learned that the woman had family members in dire need of money for medical procedures and the roses was her version of fundraising. Knowing that she was in such a vulnerable position and I was unable to even attempt in assisting her. I wish I had understood the woman but because of the language barrier, I was completely unaware of her circumstances. In moments like those, I felt disconnected from the world. I had never felt so helpless in my life. I wanted to so desperately help her but didn’t know how to.
As my parents’ interpreters in America, I am essentially their link to the world. Language is my way of feeling connected because I am able to connect two separate entities and bridge them into one. However, as my parents often do, I lost my link to the world. During this moment, as I stood at the bus stop feeling dumbfounded and disoriented, I contemplated my failure to connect with an environment that was supposed to be my own.
When I was younger, I was often bullied for my inability to speak English as well as my companions. I grew up in a household in which my parents tried to reinforce Cantonese into my native tongue. My parents were immigrants from Guangzhou and Hong Kong, and they had to learn the English language from watching American television and mimicking their coworkers in their laborious jobs. They encouraged the versatility of being able to speak both languages. However, my elementary school didn’t have faces that looked similar to mine and I was blatantly ostracized for the way I spoke. My teachers would often call me mute because I barely spoke during class discussions and almost left me back because they thought my progress and development was slow. I would mix up my English with my Cantonese words and because of this, I tried to completely eliminate Cantonese from my vocabulary. Over the years, I noticed my ability to communicate with my family start to disappear. During family gatherings, I could only understand what my family would say but stare blankly when they patiently waited for a response.
Many of the language challenges my parents face in America on a daily basis are easily solved if I am around to interpret. Speaking English was my only concern because that was the predominant language spoken in my surroundings. Family gatherings were short and rare, and my family members were starting to develop a fondness toward learning more English, which was why I never really considered language barriers as a hardship. However, my ideology completely halted when I found myself helpless and stranded in Guangzhou. Unlike my parents, when I was in China, I did not always have interpreters by my side to assist me when my Cantonese failed me. My six weeks in China, although minuscule compared to the time my parents have spent in America, helped me appreciate my family’s cultural background and all that my parents had sacrificed to raise me and my sister in a foreign country. It was only through this experience that I could fully empathize with not only my Chinese-born parents but also immigrants who try to make authentic connections in a strange and foreign country. I started to appreciate sitting down with my parents at the dinner table to just listen to their full Cantonese conversations. I started to take more initiative in making this language part of my daily routine. I want to learn more; I want to be able to communicate better with people of my ethnicity. I want to be able to pass this language down to my children. But most importantly, I have learned to proudly own and call this language part of my identity.
“Does he actually sound like that?” These words echoed in my mind, bouncing like a ball in a glass house, shattering everything in its path, leaving me in pieces. Carelessly uttered, but their impact never forgotten.
I have always been taunted for the way I speak, ever since my adolescence. Years upon years of relentless psychological trauma by my peers drove me into a catatonic state of mind, debilitating me for what seemed like an eternity. There was no escape. I was trapped in a pit of despair and looking for a way out proved to be hopeless. Being denigrated whenever opening my mouth ingrained an inner narrative that not only tainted my social skills but deteriorated any self-esteem that I may have possessed. I had become a social outcast. Silence was the loudest scream but no one heard me calling.
I had always wondered why I didn’t sound like my classmates. Why was I, out of all people, cursed with being misinterpreted? Was it all a cruel joke? Was I just collateral damage in their little game? I remember breaking down, warm water-droplets streaming down my cheeks, as I was misunderstood yet again. This time I was trying to introduce myself to a new classmate but they couldn’t understand me when I gave them my name. Surrounded by numerous peers who knew my name, only one stood up for me. I felt alone.
In elementary school, I was placed in a pointless ESL class. The goal of these sessions was for me to work on my English comprehension but this was to no avail. I ended up failing the first year and was reinstated the next which went no better. The ironic part of me being in these classes was that English was, in fact, my first language. The class ended up being a meaningless waste of my time as I still had difficulty pronouncing countless words and the brutal bullying continued on till middle school.
I took matters into my own hands after being wrongfully failed by the flawed public education system. I would keep track of the words that I would mispronounce at school to meticulously practice them at home in front of the mirror. I would read off a list of vocabulary words to my classmate, and in return, she would inform me of the terms I could use some additional practice with. This worked well at first but I had rapidly lost motivation due to the ever-growing list of vocabulary terms that I was essential for me to review.
As if I wasn’t already struggling enough with speaking clear English, my middle school had the stellar idea of registering me in the dreaded Mandarin class. At first, I had no idea what was being taught to me, but after applying myself and studying vigorously between my other classes, I had a basic understanding of the language. Not only did I take Mandarin but additionally I took Italian as well as French in highschool. As I was learning more and more words in these diverse languages, my grasp on English improved tenfold.
The constant insults and incessant mocking I had endured in my troubled childhood had left me feeling numb and empty inside. The sneering from those around me no longer affects me as it did in the past. Unbeknownst to me, recently I mispronounced the name of a country in front of my friends and became the subject of ridicule. This time instead of playing the victim, I took control of the narrative and went along with it.
As a child, I recall an acquaintance from school remarking how “my voice” is the sole reason why I am going to have any friends. Up until this time, I had seen my unusual voice as a barrier to having any friends at all. I had been described as “hard to decipher” in my past and I carried this label along with me, believing it every single second. Now I am content with the way I sound because other peoples’ ill-conceived opinions about me should not alter the method in which I determine my own self-worth.
I have long come to the realization that language is a powerful weapon and when utilized irresponsibly, has disastrous consequences. The neverending scorn from my peers transformed me as a person. I had started to feel shy and introverted as practically every single time I opened my mouth, I was greeted with disdain. Speaking, in general, had made me familiar with the concept of anxiety. I would be in non-stop fear worrying about how I enunciate each word to ensure my point gets across correctly. After a decade of torture, I have become more outgoing and extroverted now. I am no longer shy anymore. I realized the same manner in which my peers utilized language against me could moreover be reciprocated and done towards them. Language has the power to either unite people or drive them apart.
Being born in Pakistan meant that any kind of literacy would entail the need to become bilingual, because the dominant medium of communication at home was Urdu while the primary medium of instruction at school was completely different. It was English. Well, to the chargin of my parents I was not doing very well at English. So much so that it was affecting my academics.
Hence as far back as I could remember, I hated English story books. This was unacceptable to my mom though, who happened to hold the exact opposite disposition. Me tired and bored, clinging to the lapels of her shirt, struggling to keep up, was a common theme in my childhood when my mother would spend endless hours scouring bookshops to look for her desired titles and authors. She kept trying to inculcate the love of reading in her children, but to her utter dismay, we absolutely refused to catch on. To us, reading always seemed like a chore rather than pleasure. Stringing words together, putting meaning to things gave me a headache, and the stories didn’t captivate me. Words were just words, they never transported me to another reality, or painted a picture for me, or stoked my imagination. My mom spent a considerable amount of time, contriving different ideas to get us to read like unplugging the home TV, grounding us, and enticing us by promising various incentives. Needless to say it never worked.
Until the day it did. I made my first foray into the world of Harry Potter and as it happened to be, it was not even through the books themselves. I was fascinated by a movie that my cousins were watching, and I was hooked. Seeing how captivated I was by the movie they gave me the book and suffice it to say I was riveted. The books transported me into a world of magic from which I could barely find my way out.
I remember when I used to turn the corner of a page to indicate how far I had read, in order to be able pick up where I had left off but then often I would find myself unable to follow through and would just keep plowing through the book again as if there was no tomorrow. I used to sneak books underneath my bed covers so I could keep reading even after bedtime. I used to take the books to school with me so I could hide them under my desk and continue indulging in my newfound love.
Fortunately, my newfound love was substantial enough to weather away the tragedy that most avid book readers can relate to. That melancholic moment when your favourite book ends. My mom found a solution, steered me towards reading the Lord of the rings collection. Before long I was reading the Game of thrones and the list of my fantasy fiction reading kept growing. Eventually I was reading so many and such diverse books that my dad started taking me to a nearby used books shop, through which I could exchange books I’d already read for ones I hadn’t on a weekly basis.
Not too long after that, I took a chance and tried non-fiction, by reading one of my favourite books ever: The God Delusion. This was a defining moment for me because in all my years of reading book after book I had never thought I’d be able to get myself interested in non-fiction books. I related them to school and to textbooks and thinking about them sent chills up my spine. I soon came to realise, however, that it doesn’t matter as much what the subject matter of the book is, so long as it’s written well and is engrossing.
To be able to engross someone so completely and utterly using your words is truly a great thing. Besides being an incredibly enjoyable experience for the reader, it is also extremely beneficial. It makes the task of learning a language so much easier. While having the time of your life devouring a well-written piece of literature, you’re subconsciously absorbing language skills that make you a much more coherent and well spoken person.
I went from not knowing how to express my self to becoming fairly fluent at a language that was foreign. It not only aided my ability to express myself but also enhanced the way I spoke, wrote or even thought. It equipped me with expressions and words that I didn’t know I possessed until they sprouted out of my mouth while speaking, somehow clearly conveying my message.
Reading It is so effective a tool that I went on to utilise it for any other language I tried to learn, and sure enough it helped give me a sense of familiarity with said languages that greatly enhanced and expedited my learning process.
Literacy Narrative Paper
Xavier Montalvo
“How My Personality Affects My Language and My Relationship with Language in Various Environments”
Language has always been apart of our lives, be it in school, at work, or on the streets. We use it to express our emotions and ideas to one another, but how do different environments affect one’s word choice? Well as an introvert my relationship with language is very reserved.
In school I have always been the little guy in the group standing just under 5 feet tall and would always look up to everyone around me, literally. This caused me to bottle up my thoughts and just observed the world around me. As a result, I never felt comfortable raising my hand to speak or to express my ideas on a certain topic. I would just be busy at work wishing I was home in my room. I remember this one instance in 5th grade which changed me forever. I was at my after school program BELL (Building Educated Leaders for Life ) waiting on my essay to be graded. It was a warm spring day and I was wearing a light gray sweater with my school uniform. Ms. Ford was at her desk like usual, correcting the classes essays , and was working on my piece. Ms. Ford had her light gray hair in a bun, blue jeans, black shoes, and a dark red shirt with the logo on the front lefthand corner and steps with a quote on the back. As she approached me I felt as the world around me had slowed down. My class which was once loud and animated now seemed quiet. My stomach started to growl and a cold chill went up my spine. When she placed my paper on my desk she glanced at me with contempt and simply walked away. When I looked at my paper it was drenched in red. There were marks everywhere and she left a note at the bottom in bold letters, “SEE ME”. After class I was left alone with her and boy did she let me have it. She trashed my essay and crushed my soul as a writer that day, impacting me as a writer for years to come.
When I was 16 I was working at a supermarket as a stocker. My coworkers all spoke Spanish, and just like English there is more than one way to speak it. They were all from Central America spanning from Mexico to Venezuela. At the time I didn’t know how to speak Spanish all too well, and being Dominican didn’t help either. When speaking Spanish we like to drop letters in order to get our thoughts across quicker. For example when saying “adios” or goodbye I would say “adio” instead. My manager Mateo was a short stubby dark skinned man who stood at 5 foot 6 from Panama and he absolutely hated the way I spoke. He despised me and tried to make my life miserable in anyway possible. He would give me the toughest jobs even though I had only been there for a couple weeks. I would always mess up and he would just laugh at me and criticize my work. He would always say “Come on man faster! faster!” or “Ohh my gosh you’re too slow”, but because I’m more quiet and shy I felt as if cat had my tongue. This made my connection with language seem weak and distant. However, after a while I started to become more efficient at the job, and didn’t have to hear his constant nagging. I started to love going to work and eventually started conversing with customers. I meet a German history teacher who participated in the second world war. Listening to his experiences of gunshots and explosions, and of bandaging other soldiers intrigued me and I couldn’t help but to keep the conversation going. It felt like hours as we talked about life during the war and the way he lived life after. After a little over half an hour my manager came around and shooed him off and I went back to work.
Ever since I was 6 years old I have been living in apartment housing, specifically in the Van Dyke Houses of Brownsville. Being in a community filled with violence, gangs, and drugs has definitely impacted my connection with language. I couldn’t go outside as much as a kid for fear of one day not returning. This forced me to stay home most of the time playing video games alone in my room. Here I became less talkative adding on to my quiet and shy nature. From my sixth floor window I would observe the outside world and yearn to be outside with my friends. But instead I saw something even more beautiful, the sunsets. Everyday I would sit and watch the bright yellow sun descend into the coral pink horizon. I would write about it in a little journal describing the different shades of pink in the sky. These moments made me fall in love with language as I could recount the experience and enjoy it once again.
Being an introvert I have always had an odd relationship with language. There have been many ups and downs along the way because of it, but after each stage my love for language continuously grows. In sum, my silent and reserved nature as well as my surroundings have impacted my use of language.
Plenty of people have had that time where someone was passive-aggressive and you don’t really notice till after it happens. Not so long ago, a fellow Mexican came to my job. I greeted him in Spanish, and we continued to have a conversation about our beautiful homeland. He asked me “¿De que parte eres?” (what part of Mexico are you from). I replied proudly, “De la Ciudad y usted?”(I’m from the city and you?). He continued to gush about the school he attended there. I told him, “Nunca ha ido a esa escuela, yo no nací en méxico” (I’ve never been to that school, I wasn’t born in Mexico). He said with attitude, “Sí, se puede notar su español no es tan bueno” (You can tell, your Spanish isn’t that good). He ranted about how in his household his children speak and write Spanish fluently. He asked me who taught me Spanish, I said “mi familia” (all of my family). He said “pues tienes que ponerte las pilas” (well, you have to try harder). During this whole conversation, I was closing the register so I wasn’t giving my full attention. It wasn’t until I closed the register and the noise of the coins moving snapped me back into focus. I realized after he left that he was so rude to me. This was that “one time” where someone called me out on not being Hispanic enough because I didn’t speak Spanish fluently.
This is the story of my family and me. Before anything else, my first language wasn’t English. I was born here in New York. My mom came from Mexico to the United States when she was just 12 years old with the rest of her family. As a young girl, I easily talked to my Abuelita (grandmother) in Spanish and then continued to converse with my brother in English. Nowadays, I struggle. Surprisingly it’s hard for me now to speak Spanish even though it was my first language. This may come as a surprise considering most immigrant families struggle to learn English. For my family, it’s the other way around. Thankfully, my family has been able to live the American Dream. Everyone in my family can speak English fluently and everyone has their citizenship. However, the Spanish language has slowly disappeared in the generations following my abuelos (grandparents). At home, we tend to speak English instead of Spanish. You can assume that it’s due to the success of my family.
My abuelitos deserve all the credit, they brought a family of 7 to the unknown for better opportunities. My abuelitos are the only people I speak Spanish to. They understand English and they can speak a little but they aren’t fluent. As a young girl, I would go to their house and help my Abuelita (grandmother) cook Mexican dishes. Everytime I hear my abuela say “voy a conicar mole hoy” (I’m cooking mole today), it transports me to the time where I was 7 years old with my famous ponytail and was excited for the meal to come. They taught me a lot of Spanish when I was younger. Years flew by and I no longer spend as much time with my grandparents. They leave for Mexico months at a time. Even so, my grandparents keep our traditions alive. My abuelito (grandfather) always says, “tienes que hablar español cuando estamos cenando” (You have to talk Spanish when we’re all eating dinner). If my grandparents weren’t here anymore, my cousins wouldn’t even know how to say ¿Como estas? (How are you?). I cherish the small moments with my grandparents. My abuela adores to sit me down and talk until we’re both tired. She refers to all her granddaughters as “mija” (my little girl). She expresses how proud she is of me and whatnot. I personally feel like she’s the reason why I love being a Spanish speaker, even though I can’t speak it as well. I love to help people. Frequently, Spanish speakers come up to me and ask me questions or ask for directions and I’m more than happy to help them. I often think to myself, I’m blessed that I can help others. My abuelitos make me appreciate our roots. They make me appreciate the Spanish language because it’s bigger than me. Spanish is literally one of the most spoken languages in the world. I feel guilty that I don’t speak as much Spanish in such a diverse country. I’ve gotten too comfortable with American customs and what the “norm” is here in America.
What is being Americanized? It’s a person who begins to share the values, beliefs, and customs of any ordinary American. I want to blame my lack of Spanish speaking skills all on America, but I won’t. I could’ve gone out of my way to speak more Spanish with my family but I did not. However, there’s a constant back and forth at home and at work. One second I’m talking in English and the next in Spanish. It’s tiring. Most of the time I rather stick to English because I get nervous while talking Spanish. I always have to take a deep breath before speaking and gather my thoughts. If not, I’ll stutter. A couple of years ago, I started changing my ways and became more open to my Mexican culture. Funnily enough, in high school I got close to so many Mexican people. Now it may not be as often as every day but I do speak Spanish when I can. With the help of my friends, my abuelos, and some customers I’ll be able to overcome this obstacle, one day at a time. Soon enough, I’ll be a fluent Spanish speaker.
During a family reunion, the question I kept hearing upon my return, after living in South Africa for an eternity, was inevitably brought up to the table by none other than my aunt who couldn’t seem to mind her business “Why can’t you speak Baoule?”. Her words seem daunting, she was trying to get a reaction out of me. It was clear what she meant, “Are you planning to stay an outsider all your life?”. Almost like she was looking down on me. I diverted my eyes towards my mom pleading for her to intervene and rescue me from this unwanted attention I was receiving.
During my childhood, I never realized that I was missing out on my culture. It’s when I entered middle school that I figured out that my world wasn’t complete. It’s only then that it dawned on me that I didn’t know how to speak my local language: Baoule and it made me aware of this void in my life. Learning my tribe’s language has shaped my identity and intensified my bound with my family.
In my country, Ivory Coast, each person belongs to a tribe with its own particular language. Those languages are omnipresent in our daily lives even though our official language is French. They are passed from generations to generations, from parents to children. Obviously, my parents and other family members speak Baoule. You may wonder why I can’t speak it if it’s such a big deal. Why am I the black sheep of the family? I lived most of my childhood in South Africa, where the official language is English. My parents were worried that I would have a problem learning English at the same time as Baoule. With no other choices, they preferred that I focus on English since it was the language taught at school. Later on, I came back to my country and that’s when things changed. Being so far away from my homeland, I never knew nor was taught about the importance of tribes and their languages. Even when my parents used to whisper, laugh and shout in Baoule; at that time, it never registered in my mind that they were speaking in a foreign language.
After the incident with my aunt, I could have decided to start learning my language. How hard could it be? There were books on the market , “how to learn Baoule 101”, there were even applications I could download. All this at the tip of my fingers. Yet, I didn’t move an inch. As badly as I didn’t want to admit it, my aunt was right. I was unwilling to learn my language. I could blame it on the fact that I was never taught how to when I was a child and as I grow up it becomes harder for me to memorize foreign words. Yet, even I knew that I was fooling myself, at the time I was only eleven years old and I could easily pick up a new language. I refused to learn Baoule because I deeply believed that everything associated to my culture was uncivilized. After living in South Africa for so many years and going to a predominantly white school, I was “white-washed” into believing my blackness was odd. I’m not blaming it on anyone, nor am I saying that people directly influenced my mindset, but I think it was the lack of diversity in my life that led me to view my traditions as bizarre. I tried so hard not to be associated with my tribe, to the point where I would subtly distance myself from them when my parents spoke Baoule in public places, too ashamed to be seen near them.
It took me a while to realize how truly beautiful my language is. One day, I was doing an assignment on tribes and I came across an article discussing the legend of one of our queen: Queen Pokou. I read each word in awe, hungry to know more. For hours on end, I kept reading other stories painting the amazing but tragic history of Baoules. I felt like I was unraveling mysteries about my identity, but there was so much to discover. That’s when I took a keen interest in my language. Till this day, I’m not able to keep up a conversation with a fluent speaker, but I can throw in little words like “momo” or “yo” to keep the conversation alive. It gives me a sense of pride, even if it’s not much. At the same time, I’ve become so much closer to my grandparents who can only speak Baoule. Our discussions are mostly them talking at a rapid pace and me nodding while trying to figure out how to say ”okay”, but at least now I’m not completely clueless to what they are saying.
I had a rocky journey discovering my love for my tradition, that’s why I became overprotective about my roots and will never let someone, not even myself, make me feel bad about being Baoule. I’ll proudly stand on the Manhattan bridge, where everyone can hear me, and scream like a madwoman at the top of my lungs “I’m unapologetically Baoule!”
I was born in Italy but my father is American and he speaks both Italian and English. Since I was a kid, he always tried to teach English to me. Unfortunately, I had never listen to him because I remember that when he was talking in English, he seemed another person and that scared me. My father had always underlined to me the importance of English language and how important it is If one day I will have to travel the world. As a kid, those words that he was saying didn’t have a meaning for me. I had a different perspective of the world and English was not my priority at that moment. I was still learning Italian and learning English was impossible for me. As I went to elementary school at 6, I started to learn English taught by a professor. The kind of English that they teach you in Italy is very poor and it allows you to know just a few fundamental words in order to survive in case you are travelling and you need to ask informations. My parents forced me to study English more deeply against my will and they took me to an English private school. I was not concerned about learning English because I thought that it was useless in my life. Surprisingly, I was one of the worst students in the English class and I remember all my classmates that were making fun of me because even though my father was American, my English was terrible. Throughout the years my English got better and during middle school I was one of the best English speaker in the class. Since I was three years old, I used to come and visit my grandparents that lived in the United States during summer and winter breaks. In summer 2013, my parents wanted me and my sister to relate with other American kids and they send us in a summer campus in New Jersey. At the end of my experience there I was not so happy because it was very difficult to express myself as I would do in Italian. I remember that when I was trying to speak in English it seemed that I was a different person. The only way that I had to make friends was talking about soccer because they were answering to me and this gave me confidence in approaching new friendships. In two years, knowing English will be fundamental for me but I didn’t know it. It was the summer of 2015, I remember that summer as one of the worst. I was in the United States to visit my relatives and one day my parents reveal to me the possibility of living in the States. It was not really a choice; they were saying to me, not explicitly, where my future was. I remember that I reacted very bad to that news because my life was changing all of a sudden. I never took as a possibility to live in America, at least not at that age. I wasn’t ready for such a big change. Since I was born, the only place that I lived in was a small town in South of Italy, its name is Cosenza. I had too much to lose and I didn’t want to leave. The rest of the summer was horrible, I couldn’t say anything to my friends because I didn’t want to make them feel sad and empty; knowing that those were the last moments with them made me appreciating every seconds that passed but they also made me sad. Unfortunately the moment of the truth arrived and my friends, surprisingly, reacted with a positive mood by saying that with the new technologies we could stay in touch . In my heart I knew that this was not true and that they were destroyed inside. The 5th of September arrived immediately and it was the worst day of my life at that moment. The first months were tough because I was missing my mother and my sister that remained in Italy while my sister was finishing middle school and my father was rarely at home because of his busy work schedule. In New York I had no friends and I couldn’t fit in to the hustle of it compared to the friendly and relaxed people back in Cosenza. As the months passed through, my English was getting better and with it came better social skills. Some of my new friends were Italian as me and I could speak my native language with them. I gained lifelong friends who I could play football with just as before and depend on like they were my brothers. Every time my mother came to visit, she was shocked by the amount of progress I made. She kept encouraging me through my success as I took in my father’s plans and made short term sacrifices for a better future. I learned to handle adversity properly and face them head on. Today I am a new man compared to the scared boy who first moved to America. Thanks to my parents’ sacrifices, I can look forward to reach my full potential later in life and be the best version of myself that I can be.
I have always thought of a language as a single, monolithic entity. I clumped the written and the spoken language together, and thought it is the way it’s always been for me and always will be in the future. I thought I spoke the words out and written them in the same exact way. Until someone told me “You write better than you speak”. That was a revelation to me that absolutely changed my perspective and the outlook on the language.
That certain someone was a lieutenant of the Kansas National Guard. I was attached to the 137th Infantry Battalion of the Kansas National Guard and was in the country with this unit for a few weeks now. Almost all of the soldiers in the battalion came from Topica and Wichita areas in Kansas. They knew each other and trained together for years. I was the newest addition to the battalion thrown into the mix at the last minute. I stood out with my Ukrainian-Russian-Brooklyn accent and people were amazed by the way I spoke, to a point where I became a local attraction. I remember two guys coming up to me and asking me to say the word “coffee”. I shrugged and said “cawfee” like I just placed an order in any one of the millions of bodegas around Brooklyn. “Whoa”, exclaimed one of the dudes, “can you say it again?”. This was starting to annoy me but I obliged and repeated myself – “cawfee” in my best Ukrainian-Brooklyn accent, without even realizing it. “See I told y’all they speak differently over there” said one of the soldiers in the heavy Southern drawl. Now it was my turn to ask the guy to repeat himself. “Wait, say that again? Y’all???” – I exclaimed. “Yeah, y’all” – replied the soldier motioning around with his hand. “Do you mean youse?” – I said, now with the smile. “No! y’all!” – returned back my opponent, now laughing.
This sort of making fun of each other’s accents, nothing malicious, just a friendly back-and-forth, was now a norm. I would “mispronounce” some words in the opinion of the majority and be reminded of it until it was my turn to make fun of the Southern way to “mispronounce” and draw out the words. I kept speaking with the accent and in mis-constructed sentences, but now intertwined heavy with profanities like a true infantry soldier. Everybody, including myself, were convinced that it was the only way I can communicate. Until after that night.
It was one of our first patrols in the vicinity of the airport and one of the first patrols ever as a unit. The night was very dark and very hot, as usual. The dry heat in the night in that country is very comparable to the heat that is coming out of the oven when you open the door to check on the turkey that was cooking there for three hours. I was slowly cooking like a turkey inside the turret of an up-armored Humvee rolling down the dusty road in the middle of the night. Looking through my night vision goggles to make sure no one was around, I faced to the right of the road, while the rest of the patrol was facing to the left side. And then I saw tracers flying past and between our trucks and all around. I continued to look the opposite way to make sure there was no enemies trying to sneak up on us from the direction I was looking at. The rest of the patrol answered by firing back with everything they’ve got until we rolled away on the dark road and into the safety of our base. Apparently, there was a couple of local guys that took some pot shots at us as we were rolling down the road and ducked away as soon as our patrol started firing back. Upon the return our platoon lieutenant asked me what have I seen. “Nothing really exciting” – was my reply as I was facing the other way during the whole ordeal. “OK, I need you to put it into the report” – lieutenant told me. I was really bored and really took time writing this report on me facing away form the action and not seeing anything relevant at all. I thought I was writing the report the same way as I was speaking. “You write better than you speak” – told me the lieutenant after I turned in my report and he had read it. I actually took as a compliment and I was also taken back a little. After asking to re-read the report, I realized that he was right, and I had this second voice, the voice only expressed in the written language. That was my first realization that a language, and my use of language can be dual in nature and not alike in many ways.
This was more relevant as I left the military and joined the work force. I was now fully aware of my dual use of the language just from that little incident on writing the report. I personally think that my writing voice or side of the language is much more stronger, diverse and colorful than my spoken side. It was actually indirectly confirmed by my managers as they asked me to write the departmental emails to higher management all the time, but would rarely ask me to speak on the same subjects. And this is the beauty of the language, it can be multi-sided and the side that you are the strongest is waiting to be discovered by an accident.