“When are you going to learn Spanish?” is the repetitive question defining my relationship with my heritage. There is always a sense of shame when people look at you to translate– the guilt that hits the gut and makes you blush. The feeling overwhelms you to point of desperately trying to learn the words of one dialect, only to be told that it is an inappropriate term in another.
Growing up, my mother did not push her native tongue on me like she did with my older siblings. Due to a previous experience, she decided to let me integrate into the English language. It was this lack of hearing and speaking Spanish that led to my inability to understand the language.
Thus continued my perception as an outsider within my own culture. Whenever I learn that someone is of Latino or Hispanic descent, I leap for joy that I can connect with people of my own culture. However, people are more welcoming to what is familiar to them, including speaking Spanish. This is an occurrence I have come to accept.
In a sense, I grew envious of those who spoke Spanish. They could chat amongst themselves more privately in another language, extend their connections beyond what monoglots can achieve and connect with certain members of their family who do not know English. My jealousy eventually led to indifference, causing a growing disinterest in learning Spanish.
It was not until my cousin started to speak and learn Spanish fluently at the age of 21 that my desire to learn Spanish came back. I was 17 years old at the time. He said, “I practiced every day, listened to Spanish music every day, embarrassed myself with my friends but so long as I pushed myself, I learned.”
While I took his words into consideration, I compared our differences. The main thing was that he attended a predominantly Spanish church and made friends there. I did not pursue the same route, but I learned that with practice, patience, embarrassment and time I could learn Spanish too.
I began practicing, but the words never stuck long enough to conjure a simple sentence. I remembered wondering why I could not speak the language. I had reached a point where I could make sense of what I read but speaking was a different issue. Another epiphany hit last semester.
My realization was two-fold. First, my mother asked me why I wanted to learn Spanish again. I did not know how to answer, so I began with a personal sentiment about wanting to communicate better with my grandma. My mother replied, “Okay, that is for someone else, what about you? What do you want?”
I did not know why I wanted to learn at the time. It was not until I had a conversation with Mark Galvez that I realized. Mark told me, “Despite how you look, if you speak Spanish or not, how you dress, whatever the case may be; you are a Latino.” The realization stuck with me. I desired acceptance, despite my faults. It is something that grew within me as I battled with my own heritage and what I learned from God. Despite who you are, you are a child of God and you are welcomed.