#raiseact

I was taught that there was one right way to speak English.

That my English should be proper, appropriate, academic, intelligent, cultured… all these things.

There was one RIGHT way to speak English.

And THAT was not it.

That my English should not hold my accent, the slippery tongue that gets caught on the words, on the ‘esses’ on the ‘arhs,’ ‘thuhs’ and ‘tuhs’; that I should be ashamed of the mouth that drank “water” owner of the tongue that could not grasp it.

That my English should not allow for imperfections coming from un-tuned ears, ears that could not hear the differences in pronunciations, between chair and share, between hamburger and hambooger, but ears that readily heard the laughter.  When did ears ever see so clearly?

That English had no culture and therefore could not readily accept my culture. That I should not form it to suit my needs… or rather, that my needs were not suitable for it.  That my English was not MY English, it had been given to me, no, it had been lent to me. It was not for me to own.

I was taught, I was schooled, I was formed, and I was disciplined. And yet my English continues to deceive me, it forgets, it does not see the differences, it does not form itself into meaning the way I beg it to, it disappoints me… or rather, I disappoint it.

My English is weird, it’s an outcast, it slips up, it trips on itself, it doesn’t know the social norms, it doesn’t know that it doesn’t know the social norms. It is a foreigner, trying to make itself understood, and yet…