Speaking a second language

It was never this way. My first word supposedly was “ball” in English meaning the round spherical usually colorful object that rolls and bounces. Or it could be “ba” the first sound of father in Cantonese.

Starting kindergarten, there was a moment when I wanted to say something in English, but it sputtered out in Cantonese. I spoke Cantonese fluidly, but then as school continued…as the desire to fit in with my classmates…and feeling inferior by going to speech therapy disqualifying me from GATE…I improved my English.

Suddenly being surrounded by Cantonese again in Hong Kong…this time by myself without an American companion, I forced myself to understand what was being said and finding the words to respond. It was all pidgin Cantonese as the words did not flow easily. There was delight yes…as I overheard a group of older ladies and an older gentlemen mocking each other in the way only Hong Kong people could on the airplane from Saigon. And the serendipity of finding a motorbike tour guide in Saigon who spoke Cantonese, but tricking me into paying more than needed. And the saleslady at the museum who walked into a failing negotiation and gave me a bargain because “she always takes care of the Cantonese…don’t worry.”

But in all, it was a struggle. I realized that’s how a lot of people felt in the states once they immigrated here. Fifty percent of the world would pass them by. Some immigrants would became more sheltered and quiet unlike their personas back in their nativeland. Others like my mom defied the odds and didn’t let language stop her.

Entering customs at SFO on Sunday morning was suddenly a relief.

Although one officer asked me if I brought durian pancake back. I simply said, “Ugh, I don’t like durian pancake.” In English.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.