Lost in translation: Why the struggle with my mother language weighs so heavily on me

May 3, 2024

By Zahara Chowdhury
Editor

Let me set the scene: a wide-eyed kindergartener walks into a cramped classroom, completely clueless about why she was taken out of her regular class, especially for a course called “English as a Second Language.” Confused, she sits down and listens to her teacher slowly sound out the alphabet, explain the activities one would do during different seasons and phonetically articulate harder-to-pronounce words. These reinforcements were nice, but it was all basic knowledge.

Great news for my ESL teacher: I now prefer English and struggle to speak my mother language, Bangla. It wasn’t even my main language, as I have always been deficient in it compared to English. Instead of it being my first language, I would classify it as my heritage language, the minority language I learned at home but never fully developed because another language became dominant. 

English is the de facto national language in the United States, so this first-generation American had to adapt. I have to communicate in English at school and when texting, and my vocabulary is much wider than in Bangla.  

This fact hurts. It pains me knowing that I must cry my woes in diasporic poetry because I lack the fluency to understand Bengali literature, and it pains me that I prefer speaking in simpler English with my family rather than switching to a language that is comfortable for them. Most of all, it pains me that I am embarrassed to speak my language. I fear my grammar being wrong or mispronouncing consonant sounds, and since I know the ins and outs of English, it has become my safety net. Now, I am too scared to break from its safe hold. 

Although I feel guilt about my lack of fluency, it also drives me toward progress. It is up to young people like me to take the initiative to revitalize their heritage cultures, and I accept the challenge.

I speak Bangla mostly to my grandmother, who does not speak English, but there are still limitations. When my parents are not around to guide me or translate my English for her, our conversations follow the same script: “Have you eaten? Are you okay? Do you need anything?” Our love seeps through every word, but I wish it wasn’t so surface-level. I want to learn about her childhood or fondest memories with her family, but I do not know how to ask deep questions, offer a listening ear or request her to sing her favorite songs. 

The happiest I saw my grandmother was last summer when my family and I went on a six-week-long vacation in Bangladesh for my cousin’s wedding. South Asian weddings are long, sweet and tiresome, but I loved spending time with my family, whom I had not seen since 2019. My mother and I came back to the States in September while my grandmother returned a month later, and she was glowing. 

Although I was thrilled my grandmother had the chance to reconnect to our culture, I had some underlying guilt throughout the trip, wondering why I hadn’t fully developed my fluency. My cousins and I rekindled our friendship, but we would have been closer if I could speak Bangla as well as them.

Nonetheless, as a result of our family trip, I improved in speaking Bangla. I enjoyed my time in Bangladesh, and I learned so much about my culture. From my mom humming popular folk songs while cleaning to a packed room of my family-turned-chorus belting out, and from ethnic enclaves in the tristate area to being surrounded by millions of Bengalis, I experienced my authentic culture. 

I now recognize the first step in cherishing my ethnicity is to become more fluent in my heritage language. To do this, I can expose myself to Bengali media, which gradually accustoms me to proper syntax and expands my vocabulary. My parents are also resources as they can serve as my conversation partners, allowing me to speak my language in context.

As diasporas spread and new generations come along, people need to put effort into preserving their heritages. Bangladesh, with its 171.2 million population, does not have a dying culture, but its language reconnects me to people across the globe, and I’m a little more at home when I experience its traditions. 

Although I feel guilt about my lack of fluency, it also drives me toward progress. It is up to young people like me to take the initiative to revitalize their heritage cultures, and I accept the challenge.

So, to my former ESL teacher, your English lessons pushed me further into my linguistic comfort zone. As I continue to grow up, I must stumble through the barrier between my two languages and embrace the beauty of my two linguistic sides. Here’s to rediscovery.