My dad grew up with three languages, and my mom grew up with two languages. Despite this, my parents had decided to raise me and my sister only in English. My parents have done so many things for me, and I appreciate them very much. But the one thing I wish was different in my upbringing is my exposure to language. 

To begin, I can see why my parents choose this for me. They grew up in different countries, and their only overlapping language was English. If I said something in one language that the other parent didn’t understand, it could lead to stressful situations. Additionally, it would require my parents to practice a language that isn’t widely used in the United States, not having much practical use. I can see why teaching me one of their native languages wouldn’t have been the most practical decision. Nevertheless, I can’t help but wish that Iwas raised bilingual, or even trilingual. After all, the best time to learn languages is when you’re young, and it only opens the windows to learn more.

But why do I feel such a strong desire to be fluent in another tongue? I’ve had the privilege of traveling around the world, a great thanks to my parents, and have seen different people and cultures. In these adventures abroad, I’ve noticed many people easily switch from their native language to English if needed. Better yet, many can even speak and understand more than 2 or 3 languages, an astonishing feat compared to those in the United States. I listen in awe whenever someone seamlessly switches languages, the beautiful stringing of words being music to my ears. To me, it’s as if these speakers have superpowers.  

In the 2019 US Census Bureau, it was revealed that 78% of the US population can only speak English. This is an incredibly high percentage, especially concerning other countries. It’s almost embarrassing, with the Washington Post reporting that 56% of Europeans can speak at least two languages. Having the ability to switch languages, something so common elsewhere around the globe, is almost hard to wrap my head around. And I’d imagine the rest of the 78% percent can relate to this. But to me, it feels like an unreachable skill, an insurmountable mountain.

Another notable aspect of language is culture. Although I didn’t grow up learning a second language, I was still exposed to Tagalog (Filipino language), through other family members. I would sit and listen as my aunts and uncles conversed, but around me, everyone spoke mostly English. But when meeting other Filipinos, I would feel that not knowing the language, or at least more than a couple of words, made me less Filipina. Especially next to my cousins, who could at least understand. I long for knowing any other language, but I especially wish I had learned Tagalog.

Today, I am currently enrolled in Spanish 5. Regardless of what many years of Spanish learning may lead you to assume, I am embarrassed to report that I am far from my dreams of being bilingual. To put how poorly I’ve grasped the languag

e into perspective: My worst fear is watching a movie in Spanish without English subtitles, me forming sentences on the fly is almost laughable, and I go through entire paragraphs without having a clue of what it’s saying. Each year, I sit in a stiff plastic chair and try my best to immerse myself in the content. But information seems to go in through one year, and right back out the other. I watch in awe as my classmates comprehend sentences immediately, feeling that even after 5 years of Spanish, I don’t really know anything. I’ve put in the time, I’ve studied, and the language continues to be unfathomable. It seems like every day I’m reminded that I cannot speak more than one language.

As much as I’d like to end this post with an optimistic ending, I don’t know what the future holds. I still have a year to go, and many improvements to be made. Ultimately, I have to get out of my head and just learn what I can. It’s exciting to practice new words and surprise yourself with what you know. I don’t know if I’ll ever be fluent and be classified as bilingual. But I think I’ll just take it one step at a time. And maybe look into Tagalog learning programs.

Hernandez, Sandy Dietrich and Erik. “Language Use in the United States: 2019.” Census.gov, 29 Aug. 2022, https://www.census.gov/library/publications/2022/acs/acs-50.html.

Mathews, Jay. “Perspective | Half of the World Is Bilingual. What’s Our Problem?” The Washington Post, WP Company, 25 Apr. 2019, https://www.washingtonpost.com/local/education/half-the-world-is-bilingual-whats-our-problem/2019/04/24/1c2b0cc2-6625-11e9-a1b6-b29b90efa879_story.html.

As a child, I couldn’t help but feel that I was behind. In a physical sense, I was smaller and shorter than the other kids my age, but as for learning I had never gone to preschool. My mom had read me countless picture books on the bed and I loved the stories, but I had never really tried to read anything on my own. The summer before kindergarten, my parents wanted me to start using a video reading program. Colorful letters danced across the screen as a woman’s voice guided the listener through the alphabet, but I only felt disinterested. Despite the many books in my home, my parents were never avid readers, and I didn’t feel the need to be one either. 

The process of beginning to read was a blur, but eventually, the reading assessments began. My teacher would wait for me in the library, as they watched me read passages and asked me questions. The anticipation was brutal until the teacher finally gave me a reading level letter, the further in the alphabet the better. Afterward, all the students went around and compared, our defining letters determining who was “better” than the others. I stayed comfortable in the first half of the alphabet. Reading wasn’t fun, it only measured us.

It was difficult for me to understand how others enjoyed reading as much as they did, while I found myself returning library books I never got around to starting. During the free reading time, I would find myself just staring at the pages, not taking anything in. It wasn’t until 3rd grade that I finally found a book that truly interested me. The Land of Stories by Chris 

Colfer was the first book series I ever found myself reading. A 438-page book was quite hefty for me at the time, but nevertheless, I was hooked. It was one of the first fantasy fiction books I’ve ever read, where students as normal as myself found themselves in a vibrant world of fairy tales and adventure. I devoured the book, and then the second, and patiently waited as the four other books were released throughout the years.

  It was at this time I developed the habit of “binge-reading.” I wasn’t the type of person who could read for a little bit and move on to something else, once I began I was completely invested. And if I had to be interrupted, I was only waiting until I could begin reading again. Once in elementary school, I was determined to finish one, or possibly even two Dork Diaries books. I knew it was late and I knew I would be in trouble, but I wouldn’t let myself sleep until they were done. I checked the time and saw that it was already 3 am. For an eight-year-old, that was quite a stretch, and my mom was not happy to find out I was up that late.

In 4th grade, I discovered Percy Jackson. Being totally in love with him and the story at the time, every day I came home from school I would read, going through the first series, then the second series, bringing my books with me whenever I could. It was then I realized that books that created a world different from our own, with fantasy worlds or dystopia, were my love. My collection of books at home grew on several shelves throughout the house, and I became known as the reader in the family. At family parties, even graduations, I had a book in hand

The nostalgia for this part of my life is met with a combination of wistfulness, envy, and almost amazement. In eighth grade, once we began reading books like Animal Farm and Fahrenheit 451, the traces of the bookworm I once was had disappeared. It was as if once the “real reading” began, there was nothing to maintain my interest. 

It’s embarrassing to say, but I haven’t done much reading by choice in all of high school. I’ve tried to pick it up again, but it has only led to unfinished novels. Sometimes I miss that spark, the thing that willed me to focus for hours and caused books to pile up in my room. 

In recent years, what came to me instead was writing. I never viewed myself as a good writer, and even today I struggle with being happy with what I write. Writing used to be a burden, and with every assignment came dread and disappointment. The person that changed that for me was Mr. Smith, my English teacher in the first semester of junior year. He had always supported my writing and had been impressed with what I turned in. At first, I thought it was just a way to be nice, but it wasn’t until he nominated me to compete in a writing contest that my view of myself as a writer changed. I know it sounds silly, to need to accept an external view to see yourself, but I never even considered the possibility that I wasn’t a bad writer. Ever since, when I spend hours on a simple assignment, I pour myself into a piece, and even if I still might not love it, even if I fear what others think of it, I don’t mind it. 

Over time, I’ve become more of a writer than a reader, but I’ve been hoping to let reading become a part of my life again. It’s hard to believe that I once spent the better part of my days indulging in my books, filling my head with stories and adventure. I know my journey with reading isn’t over, but I’m interested in where it’s headed.