“God she such a oreo!”

“Why do she think she all that? Just ‘cuz she went to a white school? Girl please.”

“She need to act black and stop tryna be white.”

“‘Lil white girl wanna-be.”

As I was just ending a presentation on the dangers of childhood obesity and how rapidly it’s spreading, I overheard these words being said about me. I was in the fifth grade at the time. Who these people were saying these horrible things about me, I have no clue. But, since I was so used to it, I just ignored it and continued to my seat. Because I just moved to Philadelphia from the suburbs, I wasn’t used to the slang and terminologies they used and they weren’t used to how I spoke either. Language is very powerful and affects people emotionally.

“Why don’t y’all just leave her alone she ain’t bothering y’all!” said my best friend defending me. We are still best friends to this day.

“Is you rocking with us or that fake cracker?”

Although I appeared strong and unbothered with these side remarks and name calling, inside my heart and dignity crumbled into a million pieces. I’ve always struggled being an African- American young lady who speaks properly living in an urban area. Other African- Americans in my neighborhoods and schools have always viewed me as “thinking I’m better than everyone else” because of this and how I spoke, but in all reality I’m no better than anyone else in the world. They may have not known it, but their words were more powerful than any gun or knife.

I knew why people did not view me as their “homegirl” or “sistah”, but I never understood, and have to understand, why the way I spoke affected them so much they felt the need to belittle it.

Have you ever said something that hurt someone’s feelings but not intentionally? I have. I know what you’re saying, “After all that you went through in fifth grade with those people using their language to hurt you, you do the same?” To be completely honest, yes. But, unlike them, it was not on purpose. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t just go around calling people names and hurting their feelings. But, occasionally I say certain things that come out the wrong way, which puts me in a sticky situation.

“Honestly I feel like you’re being too desperate over him. It sounds to me like he doesn’t even like you”

I have said this before to my best friend. She ended up not talking to me for a few weeks, but hey she eventually got over it. As I’m writing this essay, I fully realize how much a jerk I came off as and how much my language affected her. I didn’t mean to be horrible at comforting her about her boy problems, but from my perspective my language was perfectly normal and harmless. I was being selfish and oblivious to her feelings and how my language could have affected her. Many people do not recognize how much of an impact their language has on others who may have a different language from them, which is the mistake I made and had to learn from.

Sebastyne Young, a well known author, once said “A picture is worth a thousand words, but a few words can change the story.” If someone is called beautiful or pretty, they will feel flattered and confident about themselves. But, if someone is called ugly or unattractive, their self- esteem would most likely drop like a roller coaster. There’s a difference between “She’s pretty” and “She’s kind of pretty”. Those two words, kind and of, have changed the entire meaning of that comment. I believe Young is saying in the quote that the things people say and how they say them, even the smallest word or tone of voice, can either build someone up, or tear them down.

Another power that my language holds is the image I that set for myself is the image others view me as. I’ve been involved in so many rumors, gossips stories, etc. and majority of it was not true whatsoever. A story I can remember most is when I was in the 7th grade. I liked this boy and he liked me too, but it seemed someone always had something to say about everything. So, many people would commonly say…

“He’s too cute for her”

“She’s not cute at all’

“Why can’t he date me, I look better”

For a second, I began to believe what they were saying because their words were so  powerful and hurtful. Finally, I recognized that  in order for others to see the  beauty and confidence in me, I had to have confidence in myself. So, I began telling myself that I was beautiful and a princess, and I started to believe in myself. The issue I went through as a tween was struggling to fit it and I cared what others thought about me. But now, since I use my language to encourage myself, others view me what I view myself as.

The power of language has had a major influence in my life, positively and negatively. I learned that my language and the things I say can give a person, or myself, the confidence needed, or take it away if used in the wrong sense. Although I have gotten stronger in letting the words people say affect me, it still happens. I still get hurt, but I just don’t show it. Also, I have worked on my aggressive language towards others. In conclusion, the journey I have encountered with my language has been a long one, and it will continue to evolve for the better.

As I made a few steps in this unfamiliar space, they were all so small and slow. I made a big yawn to make my step dad think I was just tired, not nervous. I came yesterday.

“Hurry up, we will be late!”

I started to walk faster. The park we walked by was big and pretty. I never saw anything like it. There was so many things that caught my eye and-

“Come on, you know that they told us to come 30 minutes early.”

His words sounded weirder than usual, since he was speaking English the whole morning, and now it took him a few seconds to process Serbian words he gave me.

“This is it. Ready?”

Nodding my head, I stept in the building; it felt uncomfortable. I walked into a crowd of people speaking another language. English. Soon I will have to learn it too, and just like them I will understand.

The halls were decorated with all kinds of papers, posters and pictures. As I passed by everything got stranger. We walked in the office, and we saw a tall brunette waiting there.

“Oh, you must be Katarina. Hi, I am Miss S.”

When she spoke I was surprised. I never heard a person speak Serbian with such a big English accent, but then again she was born in the US and English was her first language, while Serbian was the only language I spoke.

“Hello  Miss S. Um, I have a question. What grade will I be attending?”  

She smiled and put the papers she was holding down into a small section of the cabinet. The she looked at me again.

“Right. When were you born? ”

“July 1st, 1999.”

“Okay, that means you will be joining the sixth graders today. We only have one class per grade in this school, so that is where you will go.”

“Thank you. What room is it in?”

“311 but today they first have gym, it is in the basement. If you really need help understanding, just come to me.”

“Thank you, and {I pointed at my stepdad} you can go. As you can see I will be just fine.”

“Okay, okay, I will leave as soon as I fill out some papers. Have a good first day.”

I left the office and looked around for the steps. The school was like a maze. Steps to go up but none to go down. I went back and forth, until I saw a railing in hallway behind the steps. I walked up to it and slowly went downstairs. The room was bigger than a classroom, but smaller than a regular size of a gym.

That was my beginning journey to learning English in the US. I started to go to ESL (English as a Second Language) classes and started to slowly understand. The people in my class were so nice that they were trying to be my friends even if I was not understanding what they said. They even half mimed while talking, to help me.

Few months passed and I learned enough English to communicate. Still it was rough.

“Yes, and then I… ummm… how do you say that again? ”

“Say what, Katarina?”

“Umm, for example when you put water into a cup.”

“Oh, you mean pour?!?”

“Yea! Poor!”

“No, you are saying people with no money! Not poor, pour! I pour water into a cup.”

“Ohh!!! Sorry!”

“You don’t have to apologize! You are still learning! It’s okay.”

And then we both started to laugh. I guess that I needed my best friend to remind me of those things. Now when I think about it, I have no clue how I really did it. The classes? My talks with friends? Now in school I am learning Spanish, and it feels like the hardest thing ever.  

  A year passed and we had a new student and she did not speak English. We became very good friends and we helped each other learn.

By the end of middle school I was a person who officially learned English. I no longer processed it in the “translation” in my head.

I started to think in English, and I tried to fix the accent I had over the years.

This summer I went back to Serbia, to visit family and friends, and there was something that disturbed me. I would go into a store and buy something.

“Dobar dan”

“Vas rachun je 1,832 dinara.”

“Izvolite.”

“Prijatan dan.”

“Thank you.”

I would walk out the store and realize that I thanked them in English only a few moments later, when I already walked away.

Learning a new language made me see the world in a totally different light, and I want to explore the world more. Learning it made me think I can learn things easier. It boosted my self confidence.

Just as James Baldwin said in “If Black English Isn't a Language, Then Tell Me, What Is?”  “What joins all languages, and all men, is the necessity to confront life, in order, not inconceivably, to outwit death: The price for this is the acceptance, and achievement, of one's temporal identity.” He is saying that we do not need language only for the sake of understanding, but also to show us the identity we have now, but it will change over time. Language has many meanings to different people, and each person gives language a different value. For example, someone that knows 3 or more languages, probably thinks that languages are easy to learn and understand. But someone who knows only one, can not comprehend being able to think on another language.  

Most people had at least one point in their life, where they hate the way they speak or the accent they have. It makes me feel better, that I know someone went through the similar thing as me. And that is what makes us, human beings, same, but different.  

My language learning experiences change my life every day. I hope to learn new languages in the future. I feel that if I could learn one different language, why not try more. I know that’s my goals are a bit challenging. But I want to feel that amazing feeling of happiness that I caught along the way. My challenge begins right NOW!   

Haisha Hahsy

E Band

Mixed up Dari

I’m outside walking with a couple of friends and just relaxing or just meeting up with my mother and as soon as I see her I say, “hey mommy, how are you”?. The second I put my foot through my home’s door it’s “Salam madar jan chi tor asti” ?.  Home is where I automatically go into being full Afghan when I talk (I speak the language of Dari which is like Farsi and Persian).  I go from ‘sup’ to ‘asalam’. Home makes me into an Afghan and makes me feel more like me, it feels comfortable. When I am with Afghan friends or family I usually talk Dari with them but for some odd reason I talk English with the other teens even if they are afghan or do understand Dari.

• Just got home from school

Asslam Alikum mathar (Hello mom)

Salam Aisha   (Hi Haisha)

Chi tor asti? (How are you?)

Khoob, chi tor bood maktab? (Good, how was school?)

Khoob bood, chi tor bood rosazat? (It was good, how was your day?)

• Meet up with mom outside from school

Hey mom

Hi Haisha

How are you?

Good

How was school?

It was good, how was your day?

• With Afghan 15 year old, friend who understand Dari

Hey, what’s up?

Nothing much Haisha how about yourself?

Nah just school keeping me busy.

Yah, I noticed.

Sorry I haven’t been able to get in that much contact with you this week. I have benchmarks now so just a little busier than usual.

I think that I have adapted to speaking English with teenagers because I always do at school. I only speak English to grown ups because they don’t know how to speak Dari. I was born in America but my ethnicity is Afghani. While most of my friends and family were all born in Afghanistan; because I have no family in America. My father moved to America more than 20 years ago because of the war in Afghanistan; leaving him only with my mother when he got married. My family and I would usually try to go back home to Afghanistan every 2 years during the summer. I would be so happy to go and see my friends and family.

Of course everything has it’s good and it’s bad. The bad for me is that the one thing  made me nervous,  that was my own family.  What were they excepting from me? What do they think I am like now, have I changed from last time? Before I went back home there was some time in between where I would freak out a little because of the way I talk.  I can’t say  some words properly or understand really good vocabulary. In America my dari is fine but when I go back home I’m with the professionals.  Sometimes my sentences get translated from English to Dari and; that just messes up everything for example, ‘I like apples’ to ‘apples like I’.

I mean my family sees me after so long, what do they think I’m like now? Have I matured or have I become better? These questions are things that roam in my mind. Then I’m like what if I know everything in the world but don’t know how to speak. What if Albert Einstein didn’t know how to speak properly, people would have not taken him seriously and people would have made fun of him. A magician without it’s materials. A author without a pen and paper. A teacher without a class. A genius that’s a mute.  What’s today’s date?  Today’s date is Nov. 5, 2014 turns into 2014 5, Nov.

• With family and talking with my uncle

Chi ra mekhani? (What are you reading?)

“The House of The Scorpion” minta tanha tha hawala astom (“The House of The Scorpion” but I’m still in the beginning.)

Ko bogo mara, chi ra zat tha maktab kosh dari? (ok tell me, what is your favorite subject in school?)

Zehat science kosh daram! (I love science (In dari science is science.))

Zehat chizar me fami da science? (Do you know a lot of things about science?)

Khoob astom diga. (I’m ok.)

Ko, bo go can sala ast zahmean? (ok, tell me how old is earth?)

Tar havei 4.52 billion sal.  (About 4.52 billion years old.)

Chi dorhast aftow az zahmean? (How far away is the sun from the earth?)

Aftow 90 milard mil dorhast

(The sun is 90 million miles away is what i tried to say but; what I really said was miles million 90 away.)

*Everyone cracks up, me in wonder of what I did wrong or funny? This was something that got me heated up and with so many questions in my mind.

Chi qism mahtab rosani couldra me gerata? Aya mahtab as could noor darat? (How is the moon a lit? Or is the moon a lit by itself?)

*I thought long and hard for this questions for it was on the tip on my tongue; with my uncle waiting for my answer.

Neh, noor na darat az could. Mahtab roshai could asz aftab megarat. (No, the moon is not a lit by itself. The moon gets it’s light from the sun; is what I thought I said by what I really said is itself by lit a not the no, sun from the light gets moon the.)

There I was in Afghanistan with tears running down my cheeks. I remember how much they made fun of me and laughed at me and didn’t take me seriously. All it takes is to make one mistake; and everyone is making fun of you saying no that’s wrong you are dumb.    “The most vivid and crucial key to identify: It reveals the private identity, and connects one with, or divorces one from, the larger, public, or communal identity.” This is a quote by James Baldwin in his article of ‘If Black English Isn’t a Language, Then Tell Me, What is?.”  I say that’s messed up even though it may be kind of true. The way that I messed up at points divorced me from serious family talks; and from people not taking me seriously when I most wanted. Language is a like a type of special power. If you don’t use the right language you don’t have the power. Like I gave the example of Einstein not being able to talk.  Just like I wasn’t born in Afghanistan to know everything fluently; just like they are not so good at speaking English (except some people, example: students and people working with Americans) I’m not very good at Dari. Then of course Dari is my mother’s language the language of where I am from. I should know Dari better than English for it is my real language.  I started being more quiet but my family realized fast. I started leaving rooms as fast as possible and went somewhere;where no one else was so I don’t have to talk and make fun of myself.

Of course my family noticed quickly on why I was so quite. I am naturally a very talkative and loud person when I’m in a good mood that is but when I am sad you won’t even notice me there; I’m guessing most people are like that. My family asked what’s wrong and of course I was the one to say nothing but in reality I was feeling really bad. Then finally my aunt, Shabna came to me privately and asked what’s wrong and I told her everything. She said I should not be quite that’s the last thing to do. Shabna said “you can’t learn by being quiet you have to keep on trying to learn and get what you're not good at even if that goal is hard. Keep practicing and keep trying to get everything together. Just don’t stop out of nowhere because that will get you no where”.

I took her advice and came back into conversations and I thought everything out before I spoke and over the summer I got better and better. It may seem that only a summer of this wasn’t so long but actually it is very long. Think you are with family after long you understand what they are saying; but you are not sure if what you're saying is correct or not and in response you get a laugh every time not sure of what you did wrong. It’s harder than it seems or hears.   

No matter how hard something seems you always have to look over it and say I can fix this; I can bring everything altogether. I have learned that no matter what you have to face what seems the hardest; you always have to try in order to get whatever you want done. Even if it means moving mountains or people or oceans of tears. Get through what you think will help you in the end.  After all, practice does makes perfect. So maybe it you play around and practice on how to fix problems; then next time you will just become perfect. Isn't life about fixing and overcoming problems anyway?

Laughter in the air as we are all gathered around the table at the restaurant “ The Lunch Box.” It was our normal get together lunch spot we go to whenever we head up to the mountains in Everett County Pa. Me and my family all catch up with each other talking about how school and work are going.

“What would y’alls like to drink?” The waiter says.

Everyone gets soda and tea besides me.

“Can I get a wader please.” I say

Everyone starts laughing, I do as well I thought maybe they were laughing at the waiter on how she said y’alls instead of saying “what would everyone like to drink.” Then they all look at me still laughing I had a weird feeling they were laughing at me. But why would they?

“ It’s pronounced water with a t not wader with a d.” My cousin Abby said

“That is the way I say it and it is the way we say it in Philly.”I said

“Well Philly people talk funny. ” Abby says.

“Well we talk normal you people talk funny.” I said.

At this point we were getting a little too loud and as we were all talking loud people from different tables were staring at us. I couldn’t take it anymore I had to leave so I threw my metal fork against my glass plate which caused it to make a loud “ding” noise. I stormed out of the restaurant as fast as I could. She really made me mad how she said that the way we talk is funny.

This is a common thing and happens often to me when I am not around other people from Philadelphia. Where you live shapes the way you speak, and how a person uses words. For example people in the country would say, “let me go get that thing” and  Philly would say, “let me go get that jawn.” Another example is when people with country accents say “oh my stars” and Philly people say it as “oh my gosh.” People tend to think that the way my family from Bedford and Everett county talk is the right way, and that everyone else talks wrong. There is no right or wrong on the way a person speaks, yes there may be differences in the way people talk but, it doesn’t mean something is necessarily wrong.

I personally think that language has almost everything to do with what is said about you as a person, and it also does not. I think so because depending on where you are raised reflects on how you speak. It usually happens when you are a baby learning how to talk and get use to the way people talk, and since everyone talks that way you think of it as the right way to talk. New words are created all the time, for example we recently created the word “ratchet” which is another word for saying that’s dirty. We could say it as “that’s ghetto” but we choose not to because people think that since everyone else says ratchet that they should to since it is popular and it then becomes the correct way.

I believe that the way my voice sounds is it is more open to others. I say this because even though I get mad at them for trying to correct what I say, I still give their way of speaking a shot because I like to see the change in how my country and others are different and similar in some ways. When I talk to friends people say I talk in slang when to me its just my normal self talking and being able to open up myself to people. At school I try not to talk in slang because apparently, it is not ok to talk that way people say. However it is just talking to me, honesty its not something someone means it is just words that people pick up from where they live or visit. For example in the summer I went up the mountains for a week and I started talking like them I started to say “water” instead of “wader” but when I got back to Philly I noticed I started to say “wader” again, so that is when I really knew that it all has to do with where you are because you just start picking up words without even noticing you did.

I think language can also intersect with identity in a lot of ways. I think this because when a person says a word like “u” instead of “you” or says something from their country that other people would not understand then people would identify them as ghetto, weird, etc… Even though they don’t know how the person really is, but you judge them on the way they speak. Other people just think that because they think they talk right because they say a whole sentence instead of creating one simple word like, we do in Philly.

I believe that power is something you have control of, and language is something that just comes naturally to you. You have the power of whether you say something or not, but you don’t have the power of what you say because you only know what you are taught from around you. Something you say is what you know and how you know when to use it. But the power does help you say something the way you want it to be said.So I think they have a very close relationship, because they both are needed as important parts to language.  

It is like in the “James baldwin” essay we read in class he basically states that there is no right or wrong way a person speaks. It is their way of talking and living. One group of people may talk one way and you talk another it does not make them right because everything makes you who you are as a person because of the knowledge you have in your surroundings.

Sit up straight. Stay focused. This is important. Remember to pronounce water like “wah-er” instead of “wooder”. Remind yourself to put emphasis on the letter ‘s’ in the word ‘ask’ so you won’t sound like you are saying ‘ax’.

“May I assssk a question about relating themes in different religions?”

“Would you like some wah-ter?”

I feel like in order to impress a certain group of people, or in order to ‘sound smart’, you have to pronounce words in a “correct” way. Meaning, loose any trace of an accent you have and get rid of that hometown dialect; it won’t be helpful when you’re trying to impress people of importance.

“Mah, could I get a glass of wooder?”

“Did you see that jawn yesterday?”

“Do you know where the manguera is?”

Be relaxed. Don’t care about the words that fall out of your mouth; don’t pay any mind to the way you pronounce them either. You are with the people you know and spend most of your time with. They don’t care about your Philly-bound slang, or your disheveled ‘Spanglish’, they do the same that you do. I feel a bit more at at ease when I am around the people who grew up with the same dialect as I did. It is comforting to know that you don’t have to impress someone when they do not care about the way you are speaking. Needless to say, I still feel like there are times where I should speak “proper” even though I am in a more “judge free setting”.

Stay focused on the way you pronounce words - wait no, they don’t care - then again you care. Now I am confused. Though I use my Philly dialect when I am in a more comfortable zone, I still feel like I have to speak “proper” English.  If I end up speaking that way, then I feel like I am being judged.

“Why do you speak like that?”

“Speak like what?”

“Using big words and stuff, why are you trying to show off?”

“I’m not, I just like big words, and I like saying them the right way.”

“So are you saying that you say stuff better than me?”

“No… Not at all.”

Being said, that conversation with my friend ended badly; but after that I noticed a trend. The more big words I used and the more I enunciated, the more I was getting judged. They would say that I am ‘uppity’ or that I am trying to be better than the rest of them. But in reality, I am not. I surround myself with books, dictionaries, and other places of where bigger vocabulary roams, and I indulge myself in them. I just love vocabulary, yet people don’t seem to understand how much I enjoy it.

“You’re just trying to sound smart.”

That phrase haunts me. My relatives have told me that, my friends have told me that, and people I don’t even know have told me that. I am not attempting to “sound smart” at every chance I get. It does get offensive sometimes as well. I feel as if I have to restrain myself when I am supposed to be comfortable. It is like I have to be locked in some sort of cage to restrain or censor myself from sounding ‘smart’ just to avoid conflict. But by doing so, I no longer feel as if I am accepting myself. The way I speak and the language and dialect I use reflects on me. Using slang and big words are apart of my everyday life, but when I have to hold myself back, then I no longer feel true to myself.

Thinking about this reminds me of the 8th grade. I, along with 8 other students got put into an advanced English class. Instead of reading books and doing tests about them, we read Shakespeare, Maya Angelou, and Edgar Allan Poe and ripped their texts to streads (meaning we learned their vocab and tried to decipher the meanings behind their writings). Our English class loved learning new words that were supposed to be beyond our grade level. But when we got back to our normal class, there would be a separation between the Advanced English students and the standard English class. They would always say “they’re showing off” and “they think they’re smarter than the rest of us”. We never felt like we were smarter nor did we think ourselves higher than the rest of the students; we just felt lucky that we got the opportunity to be in Advanced English since there were limited spots.

“...Language is also a political instrument, means, and proof of power. It is the most vivid and crucial key to identify: It reveals the private identity, and connects one with, or divorces one from, the larger, public, or communal identity” - James Baldwin. I now realize that the vocabulary that I possess is seen as power, that the more vocab I know, the more control I will have in certain situations; but personally I doubt that to be true. There are plenty of people in this world who do not have an extensive vocabulary, and have more power than I possibly ever will. I also realized how language and dialect separates and brings together certain groups. Like in the 8th grade, language separated my class in two. Or how with some of my friends who speak a bit of Spanish like I do, feel separated from the rest of our friends when we end up saying a few words in Spanish. But it brings us together when we all know the same language and dialect, i.e people from Philadelphia have words that only we know of.

I also realized how language and dialect is a key component to my identity. It partially shows where I come from and mostly shows who I am. But when I feel separated from people due to the language I use, I end up silent. Instead of being heard and being judged, I sit with my mouth shut and listen to those around me. It feels uncomfortable to stay silent or to censor myself, but I find it better than hearing the question “Why are you trying to sound smart?”

“What did you say?”

“Did you say something?”

“Who said that?”

These phrases are what I hear most often when i’m not at home. I’m the quiet guy, the one who doesn’t speak up.  My voice was given to me by my ancestors-- before the  slave trade, before America. In America Africans were forced to forget their native languages and learn this new one. I can’t make this language my own because of what was done to my people before it became mine. This language I have inherited is helpful only in making me forget what was once rightfully mine. My voice is the only thing that connects me to my memories.

When i’m at home, I use the voice I developed as I grew up with my parents. The voice I use outside helps me blend in with the crowd and seem ”normal”  It also sets me apart from other kids who might “look” like me but speak a different language. Most people say they want to stand out when in reality most people want to blend in. Why? because our whole lives, we have had our voices preened for the singular purpose of one thing: survival. It is hard to survive if you can’t speak the language.

My  outside voice is quiet because that is the socially acceptable norm. Nothing about my voice sticks out, it is just as low and smooth as any other boy my age.  My voice has changed many times.  Before this year, my voice was lighter, and happier. When my father died, it became darker and unpredictable. I can’t say the things I want to say, the way I want to say them.

One specific time was when I forgot my trailpass on the train. I was late for an appointment so I had to run for the train. On my way to the train station I somehow dropped my pass and hadn’t noticed. I got on the train and the conductor started walking over

“All tickets and passes please” yelled the conductor.

I reached into my pocket to get my wallet and my pass , but the pass wasn’t there. I got angry, I got frustrated at myself for not having the pass and ashamed for not noticing sooner. I wanted to express to the train conductor my own feelings, my depression, my anger, my self hatred. My voice had other plans.

“Ticket please” the conductor said.

“I’m sorry but I forgot my pass. Could you please let me ride for today? I swear I had it,” I replied.

“What? I’m sorry I couldn’t hear you. Could you please repeat that?” says the conductor

“Never mind” I reply.

So I paid the train conductor 5 dollars that I never should’ve given him in the first place. I’m ashamed to say that this particular event happened to me more than once. I happened to do the same thing 3 weeks later.

This time my trailpass and $25 was stolen by someone whose identity i’ve yet to discover.  I decided to take the subway to the bus to get home so I could save money. I bought a transfer to catch the bus with minimal money. I made sure to button my coat so I wouldn’t lose the transfer, but somewhere between the subway station and the bus platform I dropped my transfer. If you’ve had a week as shitty as mine,then you’d know this was just the icing on the cake. I was angry that I’d cost my mother so much money in a week, that yet again i’d let her down. I knew some of this anger was about my father, but I didn’t know what to be angry at him for. I couldn’t yell at him , so my anger had nowhere to go but inside. I got on the bus feeling like the slime on the bottom of someone’s shoe and went up to the busdriver. I was ready to explain to him what had happened, I’d had the plan all setup in my mind, but I just couldn’t turn my thoughts into language. My voice disappeared .

Instead, I gave him 5$ for a transfer I wouldn’t even use.

“That was a one right?” asked the driver.

“No, it was a five” I replied.

“What? Don’t ever do that again son, ever. Next time i’ll spot you, but please don’t ever do that again”. said the driver

“Okay,” I said.

Out in the cold, unforgiving world my frustration and anger is not always obvious. I  express my anger in subtle ways. I am sarcastic, people have to ask me to repeat myself which I know is annoying but sometimes that gets their attention. At home, where I am  comfortable, my anger is not subtle,my voice is not quiet.  I am loud and everything that is on my mind spills out, like a waterfall of molten lava, my words incinerating or cremating everything in its path. One incident in particular caused my mother great pain and I resolved that day to reign in my tongue, to format my way of speech. I was getting up for school, trying to get out of the house on time to catch the bus. My mother was doing her usual, checking to see if I had everything I needed for school.

“Did you brush your teeth?”

“Yes.”

“Did you deodorize?”

“Yes, mom.”

“Did you eat?”

“No, i’ll just bring my food with me.”

“Did you take your meds?”

“Yes mom, I really have to go.”

“But you didn’t feed the cats.”

“I did.”

“You don’t have your squash bag stuff together though.”

“Maybe it would’ve been together if you hadn’t made me go to the doctors yesterday.”

“I’m doing the fucking best I can! I bust my ass going out there in the world applying for new jobs because of you! Whenever I buy something or send you to the doctor, its for your own good! I don’t know what else you want! I can’t do anything else! What else do you want!”

“Thanks. Now i’m late for school.”

My mother left the room and sat down in the living room. I immediately regretted what I said and went over to comfort her. We stayed there for a few minutes, and then she pushed me out the door.

“I love you Duke”

“I love you too, mom”

In James Baldwin’s essay “If black English isn’t a language then I don’t know what is” he says: “Language is formed out of brutal necessity”  Daddy and I shared a deep connection through music. That was our language.  Daddy sang all the time and we sang together. My voice was already changing before daddy died. He used to tease me when we were singing a song and  I couldn’t hit the high notes anymore.  Sometimes it felt like it was the other way around, like my voice changed to match my feelings inside. Daddies voice had a power that made you want to listen, it could lift you up or make you angry but you could always hear him. I am afraid that one day I will forget what his voice sounds like and all I will have are his photographs, the songs he wrote and the notes he left for me in our notebook. Maybe this means I will have to find a different language for this new sadness.  I will have to alter this voice to be more compatible with the world the way it is now. In this language I will have to accept the fact that daddy is not coming back. As I move away from this hard time in my life, my language now stripped of any grandeur or confidence will change again.  I believe that just like my feelings dictate my facial expressions , my voice will tell a new story. Hopefully, the new story will be a better one.

The air rushed out of our palms created a popping sound. The language of a handshake.

“Wassup yo.” I said.

“Wassup. You good?” Said Will. We were standing in a hundred foot hallway packed with kids waiting for classes to start. The walls were blue and yellow.

“Yeah, I’m chilling, tired.” I replied.

“True I got like three hours.”

“Bo’ you a nut cuz that history jawn due.” The bell rings and the slow crowd yawned and moved down the hallway as a mob. Then the hallway filled with lockers slaming, songs being sung, basketballs bouncing, students yelling, and teachers yelling. I move towards the door of my home room. A forty year old man in a button up shirt and khakis stands tall greeting students.

“ How you doing, Luke?” He asks.

“Morning, Mr.Schere, I’m pretty good.” I move into the room with more blue walls and a brown carpet covering the floor.

“Nigga luke” A voice calls out from across the room. A skinny girl with bright orange sneakers and short hair is sitting in one of the chairs arranged in a circle.

“Wassup Ki” I took a seat in the circle and shook the person next to me’s hand. 

"You know my manz Luke an inside out Oreo." She joked. The mood was light and humorous. From the other side of the circle I hear a angry voice at a loud tone.

“I’m just trying to be out, like, teachers trippin.”

“Right Cort, imma boobop the ish out them.” A laugh rippled around the room.

Later in class I raise my hand to answer the question my teacher asked; Why was the industrial revolution the perfect time to put new ideas into practice?

“Yes, Luke?” The teacher called on me.

“Well, the industrial revolution was a time where there was a lot of innovation. Because of this the acceptance for new creations was very high, anything was possible if you could sell it to the public.”

“That’s good, Luke.” He moved on, placing white papers on everyone's desks.

That night at my cousin’s house my aunt asked me about my day.

“Well, it was pretty good. I have a project and some homework to do. But I like my classes and teachers and today was fun.” With that I wiped the side of my mouth with my napkin.

Those were examples of how dialect or language changes given who I’m talking to. My school was all black. Plus me. I came from a middle class white family. All my classmates were middle class or working class black. So, when I got placed in Wissahickon Charter school in kindergarten, I had no idea that over the next nine years of my life I would undergo ignorance, culture shock, resentment, and then adaptation in that general order.

When I started noticing differences it was later than my peers.  I realized I was white at the ripe age of 8. I had already been affected and shaped by black culture but in more subtle ways. Emerging from ignorance I noticed the differences. I started noticing black culture versus white culture. From there I became resentful. I hated that my parent sent me to this school, that we lived in this house, that we had this lifestyle. But I was brought up with values of justice and right versus wrong. So that I saw the beauty and necessity of how we lived. Throughout it all I was learning how to be black with white skin. The most important part of this was probably the language. How black people talk is very different from how I talk to my family, how I talk to family friends, and how I talk to extended family.

Language, in this sense, is just how you talk. The way you say your words and what words you use is language. This holds much more weight that we normally give it.

James Baldwin addressed this in his article “If Black English Isn’t A Language, Then Tell Me, What It Is?” In this article he’s defining language and arguing that “Black English” meets its criteria. “It goes without saying, then, that language is also a political instrument, means, and proof of power… It reveals the private identity, and connects one with, or divorces one from, the larger, public, or communal identity. … in such a way that one's antecedents are revealed” This quote shows how much language affects perception of your identity. Language shows where you came from (accents/slang) and that area has some sort of stigma towards it. For instance, if I said I was from Philadelphia people would, without knowing Philadelphia, associate me with a urban stereotype they’ve made up. Language reveals how you were raised, who you are, and how you view the world with the same process. All of these judgements are subconscious and in each one of us there is a small part that analyzes every word people say.

This quote comes from  a bell hooks’ article titled “This Is The Oppressor’s Language / Yet I Need It To Talk To You.” In this article she talks about how African slaves had to learn this English language (which was the language of the oppressor) and how this language was shaped by oppression to be a new black English. She tells the story of black English and how we relate to it today. “The very sound of English had to terrify. I think of black people meeting one another in a space away from the diverse cultures and languages that distinguished them from one another, compelled by circumstance to find ways to speak with one another in a ‘new world’.” People always look at the new world slavery system and say the color of skin was all they needed to define your level of power in the system. But really, it was also language that was a definer of who you were.

She goes on to talk about how blacks have created a dialect of their own, continuing the different  two languages or dialects (black and white). Language is a definer of African Americans in this country. And yet the “Oppressors’ language” and “fear” talked about in this quote still exists. White english. White English has as much slang and as many sayings but is held up as how the actors of movies and the media talk. It is basically held up as the “right” way to talk. This is because white culture has been, since the beginning of America, the dominant culture. When Europeans discovered America there was a mindset that western culture was the best. This resulted in the construction of a white society where skin color spoke the loudest. A clearly defining feature of this system and culture was language. This form of cultural racism (language being a part of that) means to be successful and not white means you have to “act white”, or assume the culture.

My situation was pretty unique especially given my skin color. Many white people will come into contact with at least two cultural dialects, but one is much more dominate. But, I was getting such large portions of two cultures (middle class white liberal and black working class teen) everyday that I needed to adapt to survive. So over time I learned black speech. Then I was aware of codeswitching saw how useful it was in different situations. I saw and see how easily I can change my dialogue to match others or connect with others.

But, I graduated in 2013. I could have dropped the codeswitching. “Survival” was no longer necessary. But codeswitching is something that allows connection. It allows people to view you in the most positive light. It feels wrong in some ways to put on a front, but different language is just a part of the diversity of the human race. Code switching lets other feel comfortable around me and allows me to feel comfortable around others. Because, unlike other white people, I know how to code switch, I can be friends with a more diverse group of people. So I will never “talk how I talk”, never “just be me”, but I’m ok with that if it also helps me to strengthen bonds with people, lets me relate to more people, be the best I can be to people, and make people comfortable. So I will build bridges and reach out to all with how I use my voice.

[INSERT TITLE HERE]

这么说呢？ (How do you say it?)

I never felt like texting her that day because I knew she was a person with very proper English and she is not interested in any guys that are “ghetto”, so I didn’t think we would put up a good match, but either way, I did.

Me: “Heyyy.”

Her: “Why do you always say ‘Yo’? You always text me with a ‘Hey’, but I never hear you say it in person.”

I sighed and thought to myself, “And here we go…”

Me: “It’s just the way I talk lol, is there a problem?”

Her: “No, it’s just so...ghetto. lol”

I never thought the way I talk could affect the way I talk to other people. It is rare to find China born kids being influenced by the ghetto language because of where they came from. However, you are reading my story, so I can tell you that that does not apply to me.

Surprisingly that was the end of the conversation; I changed the topic because I was getting uncomfortable talking about it. It kept me thinking and judging the way I talk; if I should consider changing it or not. In the past, I purposely change my tone to satisfy others, so I can fit in. It’s a very hard job, but I thought it was worth it.

I came to America when I was four years old. I spent most of my childhood in a not so good neighborhood in which people refer to as the “hood”. From there I started to develop my new language and my tone. English is my third language with Fujianese and Mandarin being my first and second. I find a lot of new people that came into my life surprised of how I talk because it is not what they expected to be or it simply doesn’t fit their vision of a Chinese kid. And yet, I question myself about the way I talk all the time.

It was cold outside that day when I arrived at my uncle’s house. With pretty snow flakes falling down, I walked in his restaurant with my hood on.

“Jay! You’ve grown a lot since the last time I seen you.”

I smiled and walk towards the front of the restaurant until he stopped me.

In a very jolly voice, “Jay, you look very ghetto with that hood on!” (he laughed)

I smiled again and said nothing while continuing towards the front of the diner.

I never liked being made fun of because I’m not what they want me to be, but it was really cold so I just left my hood on.

A lot of my family members think that the “ghetto” language negatively determines the type of person you are. As you can see, sometimes I get made fun of because I said, did, or wore something that is what they consider “ghetto”. In most situations, I simply ignore what they say because I feel like the generation has come to the point where a lot of people are fighting against stereotypes. So they will slowly learn by themselves that it is wrong to say certain things.

In the passage, If Black English Isn’t a Language, Then Tell Me, What is?, James Baldwin wrote, “It goes without saying, then, that language is also a political instrument, means, and proof of power. It is the most vivid and crucial key to identify: it reveals the private identity, and connects times, or divorces one from, the larger, public, or communal identity.” We human beings use language and tone to communicate every single day to create new things, present, change lives, simply talk to family members or friends, etc. If every human being talks the same way, then everything will stay the same. Think about it, how will we challenge each other to accept different people when we are all the same? Everyone is their own unique self and their voice is a very important part of sharing it with others.

To add on, in the story, Tongue Tied by Maxine Hong Kingston, “I hoped that she would not cry, fear breaking up her voice like twigs underfoot. She sounded as if she were trying to sing though weeping and strangling. She did not pause or stop to end the embarrassment. She kept going until she said the last word, and then she sat down.” I specifically chose out this quote because I found it very inspiring. The main character and her sister never liked talking, but when they had to present, she didn’t care about the embarrassments and read her piece with great confidences. This quote explains no matter how quiet you are, you can use your voice to be the loudest person in this world. This isn’t about race, gender, disorders, etc. this is about using your voice to stand up for yourself.

Now with that said, the way I speak is one of the ways I express myself to the world and the people that come in and out of my life everyday, so I think I am the only one in this world that is capable of changing it.