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Welcome to the Jungle

 Nuri Bracey
Final Draft

                   Welcome to the Jungle

I remember it like it was yesterday.

"Wait, what you say?"

"I said I live right up the steet"

"You can't say your r's ? Hahaha"

            I couldn't tell whether they were laughing with me, or just laughing at me. It was easier to laugh it off then to try and decode the situation. A small little space in my head realized that they were laughing at the dialect I was using, but I was too busy laughing at their so-called "language". I mean, who says "jawn"? That was bad enough. Instant superiority was established in my head when I heard my first taste of this alien language. Whenever someone spoke, I couldn't help but crack a little smile or start chuckling. Stares were always directed my way, which I accepted. Then one day, reality hit.

"Why you laughing at everybody?"

"Because, no one here can talk properly."

"But, you're the one that talks like a dumbass, not us."

            The whole lunch talble erupted in laughter. The realization came crashing like a high-speed bullet train. I was the minority, not by my skin, but by my tongue. At that time, the only thing that made me different was tied in to a cowering knot in front of a crowd of pre-pubescent children. Two hours and about twelve more laughing fits from the kids and I was home, walking into. The kitchen of the two-floor Yeadon house. Steam arose from the stainless steel pots. Not even the smell of oven baked Mac and Cheese or brocolli and cheese could heighten my mood. 

             "Hey mom, why didn't you tell me people talked different? I've been getting laughed at all day." I sat down as she slid me a plate of food. I looked down at it and stopped resisting the temptation.

              "Honey we all don't talk the same, that's only because we were raised in different places."

               "You were born in New York too, why don't you talk the same as me?"

                "Because I lived in Philly before child."

              I went to sleep with a new realization that night. I talk differently to them because of where I was raised. Going back to school the next day should have been easier, but of course, it wasn't. The jeering hadn't died, but escalated. Kids gathered from East, West, North and South of the recess yard to hear the boy with the odd voice. They demandad entertainment in the form of foerign language, but I was way too prideful to bend to their will. Even the teachers that were on supervising duty worked their way in to the peculiar crowd to see what the ruckus was. I wonder what their thoughts were when they caught their first glimpse of the little boy sitting on concrete with the blankest face, staring at at least 20 people. What was I supposed to do? Hell, I was on the verge of crying. The whole scene was kind of overwhelming to a 60 pound, 2nd grade boy. I started feeling like Gloria Anzaldua in "From Borderline". In her story she said, "I grew up feeling ambivalent..." I didn't know whether I should accept my dialect in its own form of uniqueness, or seek help in making it blend in with the others. I pondered it everyday I walked into Ms.Johnson's class at Aldan Elementary School. That was only one of the things I had to think about over the course of my days. Besides giving up my dialect, I kept asking myself one question. How could kids my age be so inconsiderate? It's enough to laugh at someone once, but to do it repeatedly? It didn't really faze me though; I wasn't really an emotional kid. Weeks went by, yet I was still pondering. I was sitting at my table doing the "Grindin-Clipse" beat with my knuckles, when the teacher asked a question$

              "Class, who can tell me the product of 2x2?

I didn't know when my response reflex got that fast, but I quickly shot my hand up and shouted "4!"

"Correct Nuri, 4 is the right answer."

I slumped back a little and awaited the laughter. To my surprise, none came. My friend Patrick walked over to me after class about it.

             "I see you lost your accent" he said.

             "What are you talking about?"

             "You didn't know? Your accent is gone!"

I smiled widely on the outsidel, but I was rather ambiguous on the inside. I was happy because I knew that the reign of jokes was finally ending, but it felt like a part of me died. I mean, I was that language. We interwined, then nature came along and forced me to adapt to my new enviornment, like all mammals. That dialect was apart of my identity, as much as Jay-Z's grunts are to him, or Good Charlotte's lack of musical creativity is to them. My identity received a negative blow to it. I transformed from the laughing stick to another ordinary Yeadon kid with the change of a language. Whoever said language didn't make you different was, and still is, a liar.

History is Determined by Language


            “Are you from New York?”

            “No. I was born here in Philly. Why would I be from New York?”

“It sounds like you have a New York accent.”

            “No, I don’t. How could I have a New York accent?”

            “You just do.”

            This happened in school. Here in SLA. A few of my friends and I were playing games on our computers, typical. Then he says that. I would have never expected someone to say that I’m not from Philly just because of my accent. I was thinking this question after I left the conversation, “How would he know what a New York accent sounded?” On my latest trip to New York, I was thinking this. I couldn’t dilate any voice to see if it sounded like mine. I also found out that New Yorkers were pretty damn arrogant.

            So, let’s get back on topic. Now I think this is a huge regret I feel and maybe my Dad as well. If only I could fluent Spanish like my Dad, but unfortunately, I can’t. It was probably my Dad’s and my greatest mistake in life. He wanted his son to speak Spanish like him, and I wanted to speak to him in perfectly, fluent Spanish like Dad, yet I cannot say a phrase in Spanish with confidence. I want to say what I’ve learned in Spanish class, but I’m always worried I may say the wrong thing. I am thinking right now how some people say I’m Italian. If only I could speak Spanish, prove them wrong. They would be scratching their heads, saying, “What did you just say?” I would say, “I just said ‘I am not Italian. I’m Puerto Rican’ in ‘Español’ or Spanish to you guys.” I just wish I could be a bilingual, speaking English and Spanish, but I think it’s too late to be that.

Here’s something I can think about my dialect. Does my dialect intersect with my identity? Yes and No. Now I said yes because there are times when people question my dialect. There are questions or comments like the example I have on the top of the first page, or there can ask…

“Why does your accent sound like that?”

“You sound stupid!”

“Well, I was born with accent like this, and I am damn mighty proud of it.” No, I don’t say that line, but that’s what I think about. Now it gets a little sentimental. When I was going through a bit of depression through one of my summer break, (7th grade I believe), I thought the bad things that was said to me through my current 8 years at my old school, and I would think I sounded stupid. The way I spoke, probably made some of my “classmates” lose respect for me (that is if they had any respect in the first place.) I said no because since that “New York” accent questioning, I have not been made fun of my accent or commented on my accent for a while. I can’t remember the last thing that someone said to me about my accent in a negative way. Probably 7th was the last time I heard something about my accent. In 8th, it was about personality, but that’s different story.

            Now this maybe interesting. When my current 10th grade teacher taught us about a relationship between language and power, I thought there was no relationship at all, but once we got into the discussion, I had second thoughts. Yeah, that was kind of obvious. Any whom, there was a good point when you would have a president who would speak formally than informally. For example, if Barack Obama spoke like, “Yo, what’s up, my fellow Americans,” than, “Good evening, my fellow Americans,” you would have thought twice to elect him as president in the first place. The thing is… having a slang could mean power, just not a chance for presidency. It could mean it on the streets. Gangs and clubs would be on the street with slang, and they show their power with that kind of tone. Politically speaking, you must speak formally (and learn to keep their promises); they can be president people look up to. Kind to think of it, what would happen if we did have a slangy president, but he still did good job while in office?

            Now I must admit, I think I may have a different public persona than an internal persona. Why do I think this? Well, I tend to have stage fright, a bit of it any way. When I want to speak up, I feel the words come into my head, but once I try to get the words out, they just dissolve from my mind and I cannot explain the situation, even though I had the words to explain it. Those who read this probably know what I feel. My internal persona is something else. This would kind of relate to an essay I read in English just before I typed all this into this log. The essay was by Richard Rodriguez, and the essay was called, “Hunger of Memory.” A quote from the essay, “In public, my father and mother spoke a hesitant, accented, not always grammatical English…” That’s what I meant. When Richard’s parents spoke in public, they would be a little hesitant. That’s how I feel. You try to say it, but you stammer and sputter like a car that ran out of gas, and then you don’t make a noise after all that, and you are thinking




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The way I speak has nothing to do with who I am


Kilah Kemp           

Philadelphia, home to some of the rich and Famous and the young and struggling. It is like a mixing pot for Pennsylvania. 

Pittsburgh, known as the Steel city a place where everything has and is in its place. A quaint and quiet city not much of a moving city compared to Philadelphia. 

Although they are in the same state, the differences between them place them on opposite sides of the world.

The place where they meet is me.  I was born and for a short period of my life I was raised in Pittsburgh. But ever since I can remember I was here in Philadelphia  and grew accustom to it ;I have had a Philadelphia soul. I haven't forgotten my Pittsburgh roots and those roots show in me for the most part like they way I act, but Philly… Philly is my home and it shows all  in my speech. 

               "Hey boo"

               "Hey girly"

               " You are still coming downtown with me right?" 

               "Yeah, didn't I already say that?"

               "Alright, you didn't have to get smart" 

               " Haha, I was just playing"

You can also see my family roots when we're talking with each other.

               "You finna go to the store?"

               " Yeah I am you want something?"

               " I want a bag of chips and go' on and get some of den cookies that I like please"

               " Sure, will do daddy"

               " Oh and can you make sure that you go get den there uh cooking oils and my orange juice."

               "Anything else you would like daddy?"

               "Breafas sausages" 

               " Daddy can you please put the K back in Breakfast?  Truly dad that is all I ask."

               " Okay snobby Breakfast Sausages"

               "Thank you daddy I will be right back"

             My father, born and raised in Pittsburgh, had never been outside the 412 and he was proud of it. He always had this unique way of speaking. I was always a fan of grammar and the proper way of speaking, and I think that comes out when I write and I speak. My father's side took well to "modern day slang" and I didn't. I think that always separated my Brotherly Love and my Steel city. I think that the way that one side of my family speaks is entirely different from the other. 

My mother who was born and raised in North Philadelphia and was sharp as a tack made something out of herself even though she doesn't think so, she is the strongest and most proper woman I have ever had the pleasure to meet. She is the sole reason why I carry out grammar as strongly as I so. She makes it almost impossible for you not to speak proper English. I feel as though without my mother I would not correct everyone's speech every time I hear it. 

                 In the short essay “If Black English isn’t a language then what is it?” by James Baldwin he said  “People evolve a language in order to describe and control their circumstances”   I think that in a way that is where slang originates from and although I do love my grammar I do sometimes partake in speaking slang with my fellow peers. Taking control of an environment not only means that you are knowing where you are but where you come from. I think in the African American society “slang” or “Ebonics” is a way that we express ourselves with one another. It is a way for us to be and feel comfortable. The slaves found a way to cope with not being able to speak their own language and not fully learning the language of so called “pure white people” slang is that escape route. “Slang” is something  we can call ours. It doesn’t define African American but it does help control their circumstances.

            In the short essay “ Hunger of Memory” by Richard Ramerez he talked about how by a chance of geographical luck he was a Hispanic boy of working class wound in a Catholic school full of Senators children and he didn’t know English very well which was kind of a Burdon on him because nobody else knew what he was talking about. He said “What they understood was that I had to speak a public language” English is this language that is spoken everywhere and it is kind of  a language that us universal. When people in other countries think of  English they think of America “The Land of Opportunity” when English isn’t even the official language of America.  There is no public language every single person on the planet is different and sometimes the only way some of us can connect is through our language and that and it is commonly assumed that English is spoken everywhere since it is a dominate language. I am different from him but we both share a common factor and that is we both speak English. There is so much diversity that there really couldn’t be a public language.

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What it’s like to be Trilingual

              I speak three languages: Albanian (Native language), German and English. Whenever I write an essay or any intellectual writing assignment I have a certain self-conscious criticism to myself. I get so self conscious to the point where I dwell on imagining myself knowing one language exceedingly well — instead of knowing a little bit of each three that I know. I want to be monolingual instead of trilingual so I can exceed in English writing instead of simply meeting requirements. If a woman knows one language all of her life, she only focuses on that one language and doesn’t have others to get in the way of her focus- and therefore she has all her focus directed to that one language, and can do exceptionally well with it. I become unappreciative of my personal linguistic capabilities to the point where all of my gratitude for knowing all three of these cultures and their regions dissolves. It dissolves in my imagination for hope, so that I can dedicate my all to ultimately mastering one language, and thus feel accomplishment in my writing.

Inevitably I use quite a lot of time in studying and scrutinizing my work to at least meet the requirements that an English audience expects to be at least “good.” In spite of my grueling effort to try to improve the way I write, I always stumble on my structure. Invariably the way in which I structure my sentences tends to be my common flaw, I continuously get feedback on displaying my sentences awkwardly.

My incompetent writing skills that appear in my papers come from how I form sentences in my other two languages, as does my cadence in pronunciation and level of broadness in vocabulary. Also my quiet nature of projecting words comes from the shyness that used to be pinned to my character. Seeing as how I used to live with reticence, it became a part of me, and therefore I became oblivious to it. My shyness has stuck with me, shaping my style of speaking along with the influence that I got from my German classmates in Germany, and family members in Albania. Since I get unassertive about my English writing, sometimes I choose to be stubborn over logical when arguing about how to pronounce a word correctly.                                    One time I can remember being stubborn about a word was when I was in 6th grade. I was twelve had been living in the US for five years.                                                                                                            “I’m so much better than you! You’re dumb and I’m smart!” my sister yelled. She was eleven at the time.

 “Yeah?! You’re dumb for calling me dumb, cause it takes one to know one,” I yelled back.

Then she said “Listen you are pronouncing this word just way out of proportion!”

“ No! YOU’RE blowing this conversation about this word out of proportion!” I retorted her defensively.

This fight went on for a while until I, the oldest (by a year), broke it off. Maybe I didn’t break it off as maturely as I should have, but at the time I thought that it was mature enough.

“Fine, how about we make a bet. You go to your English teacher tomorrow and confirm that the stupid word “determined” is pronounced your way- “ditermend”, while I go to my English teacher and ask her if it’s pronounced my way- “deder-mained,” pronouncing the “mind” in the word determined just like the word “mind” and all the “e’s” in “determined” just like the first “e” in elder. Whoever gets it right will do chores for a week”.

“It’s a deal.” She replied, and we both shook on it.

The next day I went to my English teacher and told her about my situation.
“I’m afraid it is pronounced the way your sister pronounced it.” She told me.

When school ended, I walked home disappointed. After that day, my loss resulted in getting prune hands for a good five days straight (from washing dishes).

I could have easily won but at the time my sister and I knew little about language and that there is no right or wrong way in pronouncing words, it is just the way people show their own style of saying things influenced by their familiar surroundings which they grew up with.

Another time I can remember of a similar “mispronunciation”-incident was one day before coming to school. It was another day that I had fought with my sister, but I was older and it was right before I headed to go to school. When I arrived at school I just didn’t feel like reading or really doing anything. But my second class required doing so, and there was nothing to do about it. It’s not that I hate to read, no, I actually love to read and escape from reality, but I just simply wasn’t in that mood today since my sister caused me so much annoyance that I wasn’t willing to let it go and move on to my reading zone.

Ever since that age I didn’t really mispronounce any other words until two days ago in Spanish class, when we had to make questions for a project regarding a made-up interview.

“Hey Matt! Can I check out what you have so far?” I asked.

“Sure.” He said.

 “What can you contribute to this job?” I read his question to myself.
“Wait. What did you just say contribute like?” Matt asked, looking dumfounded.
“Contribute”. I said pronouncing it like “kon” (like a con in pro & con’s) and tribute like “trabute” (KON-tra-bute).

“What? It is not like that, it is supposed to be pronounced contribute”. (He said it like ken-TRI-bute.)

That next period after Spanish I had English. In English class I read a story called “How to tame a wild Tongue” by Gloria Azaldua. The story was about language and how it shapes the character’s Identity and perception based on gender biases and ethnicity. I could really relate to this boy’s situation, because we were both struggling to cope with more than one language.

“For a people who cannot entirely identify with either standard (formal, Castillian) Spanish nor standard English, what resource is left to them but to create their own language? A language which they can connect their identity to, one capable of communicating the realities and values true to themselves- a language in terms that are neither español ni íngles, but both.”

Equivalently, just like the boy, I had trouble coping with what language to connect my identity to. Furthermore, similar to his created “mispronunciations”, I also created my own way of pronouncing words that weren’t correct in the “standard ” way. Essentially language does not have one normal, or one precise way of going about. This exemplifies how a person’s identity intersects with language based on their place of origination. For instance my pronunciation of the two words mentioned in my experiences (“determined” and “contribute”,) have a different cadence when I say them compared to when American’s say them.

Three cultures, norms, countries, and languages can bestow a person with a little of each, and broaden their knowledge along with their approach in life. I am trilingual, and maybe I know a little more about life than someone my age and gender who is monolingual. I am not phenomenal in one language but great in three. From how the languages that I speak affect the way I write in English (since English writing is an important part in my life concerning my identity), and cause me to have an exceptional perspective, can let me to definitely say that language plays a big role in my life, and shapes how I am in the different persona's I carry living. I am an English student, and a trilingual teenager.
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Language is not a Barrier ~Jonathan Spencer

            I sent a text to my friend, one afternoon. I hadn’t talked to him in a while and wanted to know how things were. This is sort of how the conversation went.

            “Wazzup man, I aint seen u in a while. Hows life?”

            “Life is up and down. U know how life is. Mine could be better, nam saying?”

            “No,” I sent back.

            “Well thas 2 bad. U need 2 pay more attention 2 ppl since u cant understand no body.”

            “……,” Was what I replied.

            “Nam saying?”

            “Watev man.”

            “Imma tlk 2 u later. Dueces.”

            “Ard. Dueces.”

            I don’t understand how we became friends because he never wants to talk about what I want to talk about. That is because we have very different versions of the world we live in. It makes it difficult for us to talk about anything because we don’t have much in common. When people speak about different topics then it’s harder for them to communicate because they are talking about different things. A person who is familiar with a topic will find it easier to communicate with someone who is also familiar with that topic. When two people are unfamiliar with the topic, it could be language or interests; you will find it hard for you to communicate with each other. Now we all know that the way that conversation went are not how all conversations go. However, we do know that I am talking to someone about things of similarity and therefore have similar interest. It is my understanding that people who have similar interests and/or ideas can be able to communicate even if they are speak different languages.

When people are confused by what another person is saying it is because they either: 1) Don’t know the language. 2) Have different interest. Or 3) Have different opinions on these interests. If everyone was a “Common Joe,” as Mike Rose out it in page 3 of his essay titled “I just want to be Normal.” Then we could all communicate even if there was a language barrier. At the same time, Mike Rose must realize that if everyone were this “Common Joe” that then everyone would be a little less individualistic. People sometimes think that it has to do with race, like Richard Rodriguez did in “Hunger of Memory.” He said that, “An accident of geography sent me to a school where all my classmates were white…” and he made it seem as though he could not communicate with them and vice versa because of where they had come from. And yet, the story that I will tell you next completely contradicts that point.

There was a time when I visited Mexico and only knew how to say hi in Spanish and count to ten. There were some people who I started talking to because they had a soccer ball. I had kicked it back after it came to close to me. Then they asked me do I want to play in Spanish. I only knew one word. “fútbol.” So I walked over. It was five of them. Then I made a suggestion that we have a 3v3 game, but nothing happened. I was scared because they were unfamiliar to me, and I to them, therefore I wouldn’t be able to communicate with them. Then one boy said, “equipo” over and over again. Then I said, “tres and tres.” “¡Si!” he responded. He then pointed to three people and put them on one team and then pointed to himself, another guy and me and said equipo again. I instantly understood that equipo meant team and that I was on his. I said, “What is your name?” “Como” was his respond. Once again I thought that we were at a limit and didn’t think this game would go so well. Then he said, “Objectivo, aqui y aqui.” He placed a stick into the ground a then took another one and place it about 5 feet away from it. That was the goal post. I could tell because I knew the game and because they knew it as well. Our similar understanding of the game allowed us to communicate even thought we didn’t speak the same language. After he placed the second goals we started. There were no actual positions, we just kicked the ball around and tried to score. It was a lot of fun. The score was 6 to 6 and I had to leave soon. I said, “I go adios, soon.” and “¿Como?” was his response. Again I felt like there was a language barrier. It was really starting to become a nuisance. So I simply said, “Never mind.” I didn’t want to waste time trying to make them understand what I was trying to say when I had a limited amount of time left. We continued to play. Then one of my teammates yelled what I assumed to be timeout. We had a conference about how we were going to win. I have no idea what he was saying but I knew that he wanted me to kick the ball far to him on the opposite side of the field while the other person ran through the middle and distracted the other team. In short, we won the game because of that play and then when my Dad was calling for me to leave I yelled “Adios,” and they responded by saying “Good bye”

Language is a very complex thing. There is a lot more to it than the words that you use to communicate. The way you talk and what you talk about are more important than the actual language. If you talk in a way where you are constantly going off topic, then you will find it difficult to communicate with someone who stays focused on the task at hand and vice versa. Speech is a kind of understanding, like when you look at someone and know what they are think. Sure, language is a barrier, but in cannot always stop someone from conversing with another being. But the kind of thing that I am trying to describe is not something that can be written down. It’s a kind of understanding. Do not let your language keep you from making a bond with someone else just because you cannot speak the same language. When you act natural and act your self you will do just fine. Once this occurs you will never have to worry about language again.

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The Switch

I have a secret that’s easy to figure out, no it’s not money or anything you can touch but maybe this will help you figure it out. Every day the sunlight creeps in through my window shining almost directly on me. I manage to stay asleep that is until my cat comes in my room meowing and scratching on anything he can. I wake up and say

“Lester what you doin’ to bed, you crazy cat.”

He looks and says “MEOW.”

I giggled because it was the kind of a response you would expect from a cat. The look in his face says “hungry” at least until I start to put on my belt then he tries to play with the loose end. I get out of bed and see my sister and she says “Hi Jovan”

“Hey Nadya” I say

I see my mom and say,

“Good morning mom”

I get to school and say “Sup” to all my friends, or I might use a playful English accent and say “top o’ the mornin to ya,” but that’s just for fun. Did you guess what the secret was? If you said that I talk to my cat you are wrong, but I bet you do what I do too. I code switch I have multiple ways of speaking. A lot of people do. I code switch because my default speech pattern is a little unacceptable for professional conversations and a little too proper for a friendly talks without being judged.


I go through my day with many ways of speaking. They change depending on whom I’m talking to. I find it is useful if you know how to talk to certain people. I talk like your average African American with less slang in my speech, don’t know why maybe because I was raised that way. I say things like, “Sup,” and, “Ain’t” in my regular speech but you wont hear me talk like that at a job interview. Instead of, “Sup boss” you would hear, “Good morning Mr./Ms. (whatever their name is)” I know how to change my speech and it helps me fit into a new place. Through elementary and middle school I had to talk proper because I was in a “learning environment that encourages proper speech and literacy,” I already had those from preschool so those were no challenges for me. Once high school came into play it was a different environment. People weren’t in uniforms, and you hear a mix of languages and forms of speech all around you. I spoke proper for a while but somehow my speech changed and now when I give a greeting to a friend you hear, “Sup” instead of “Hi.”

Since then my language has been the same, but I can change it with a simple thought. My code switching is a major benefit for me. With my code switching I can do a lot of things that I like to do. You’d be amazed at what proper speech can do for you but don’t code switch so much that you lose your original speech. To quote Mike Rose’s I Just Wanna Be Average “Rely on your own good sense.” What this means to me is that code switching doesn’t require knowing another language, or keep using the same form of speech for a long time it just means know when to switch how you speak you can always switch back after. I like code switching its fun. And honestly I don’t even need to think when I do it. I know how to talk to certain people so I instinctively change the way I speak to show my respect to other people. I’ve done this for so long that in a sense I am a multilingual person because I talk in different ways to different people.


Code switching doesn’t take long to master. All you need to do is have common sense. Understanding when to speak properly is the most important part of code switching. You also don’t need to change your voice when you do. Mastering this skill is really easy and only takes about 2-3 days, so you can get used to it. It works because when we learn to talk we learn proper English, so over time as our language changes we will know the proper language and we can willingly revert back to it whenever we want. As stated before you don’t have to keep talking in another way; you can change right back and it will be fine. I do it all the time. After some time of reaffixing yourself with proper speech code switching is a breeze. That is my secret to getting things I want, along with the work that I do. But if you knew me you would have already known that. And with that I say “See Ya”

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Changing myself just for others? Why? Why not? - Niyala Brownlee

Changing just for others?

Niyala Brownlee


            “Hi my names Niyala. Nice to meet you!” That was me introducing my self to my classmates at West Philadelphia High School. I made my voice sound light and airy with a loose smile to make myself seem friendly. Though apparently friendly is not what these people are used to.

            I had gotten many scoffs in return. Some replies of,

“Suck up.”

“Teachers pet.”

And the occasional,

“ Who does she think she is?”

Finally someone chose to utter a complete sentence.

“Where are you from?”

That’s a normal ‘get to know you’ question and all, but of course they choose to add the  “ You don’t sound like your from around here” at the end of the sentence. There were and few more murmurs then I had had gotten the chance to respond.

“What do you mean? Of course I am from West Philadelphia.”

            That type of conversation, including the question ‘Where are you from?’ always had the tendency to pop up during my time spent at West Philadelphia High. At first I had thought that people just wanted to know more about me, though as it turns out, they just wanted to know where my way of speech came from. Soon it had gotten irritating. No matter how many times I had replied with West Philadelphia they would always say I was lying. They had complained that I talked too ‘Proper’ and/or too ‘Correct’ to be from West Philly. I always wanted to complain and argue the fact that my way of speaking was normal for a person living in West Philadelphia and the fact was that ‘they’ had just talked so ‘improper’. Though of course being me, I had no intention to start a fight, so I eventually just gave in to what they were saying. I had not stated that I was from somewhere else; I had adjusted my speech so that it was dulcet to their ears.

            Soon I had gotten so use to that way of speaking that it hardly seemed like I was faking it anymore. However that still does not mean that I liked their way of speech. In actuality, I was appalled with the sounds that were making their way past my lips. When greeting someone, when I would normally say;


            “ How are you doing”


            “Nice to meet you, my name is…”

I would find myself saying something like


or even,

            “What’s up”

instead. It may not sound like it in another persons ears, but to me it sounds completely rude and just plainly ‘not right’.

            Recently I had read something from a book that had made me look back on my situation. The book was called ‘Hunger of Memory’. It was about a boy coming to Ameri ca and being made to speak a language foreign to him. He was disgusted that he had to even bother speaking it. He had wondered why he could not speak his native language. He had stated:

            “An accident of geography sent me to a school where my classmates were all white.”

(pg 11. paragraph 2)

And I had thought that I had felt the same way as he had. The students may not have been white at West Philadelphia High, but they seemed completely and utterly different from me and what I was used to.

Than he had said

            “It’s not possible for a child – any child – to ever use his families language in school”

(pg 12 paragraph 2)

Reading that had made me think that it resembled my situation even more then before. Then I had realized that he’d had no choice but to change his language. He was never given a chance to speak how he had wanted. I was. I was never forced to change my language. I was never even asked to try to speak more like the people around me. I had just considered that if I acted like others around me, I could be like them. I would be liked by them. Though I found out that to be like them, I would have to be myself and if they didn’t like that , then I was be best without them. There’s no reason for me to change my voice for others. No reason to change anything and that was that.

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"Laura Language"

Laura De Jesus


Your English, My English




“What chu want Jordan, damn?!” I replied.


“Areeeeeeeeeed, you deff aint have ta reply like that, b.”


“Jordan, if you don’t just shut the hell, talking fa?” I replied with an attitude.


“What the hell is the matta with chu? Betta pipe that shit down young.”


“Ared, now who you talking to?!” I said with my fists balled up.




“Get the hell out of here, b.” I replied laughing.


“This why I don’t like you now, always think someone playing with ya ass!”


“Now Jordan you know . . . ” We both go into laughter.


            As I enter school every day this is a daily ritual that occurs often with me and my friend, least three times a day. People look at us all types of ways.  Like “What in the world is wrong with these two?!” That doesn’t stop us and the way we communicate with each other. People tend to stop and laugh or they join in the conversation.

            Thinking back on it the way I speak is nowhere near the same as it used to be when I was younger. Being the fact that Spanish is the first language I was taught, I was fluent. Learning English was hard, especially at the age of five. Entering kindergarten and not being able to speak the native language was very challenging. The main people I knew spoke pure Spanish. I felt like I didn’t belong with them. Once they opened their mouth words flowed right out, but once it came to me, the words stood at the tip of my tongue, stuck.

            Time passed and passed, my speech was still not on the needed level. Common words like “hello, yes, no, etc…” were easy to say. Words with similar sounding letters are what killed me, kitchen for example I would pronounce “kichin”.  Switching from public to catholic school made it easier for me. By the second grade English became my official second language. Went from phrases to sentences.

“ Hi my name is Laura De Jesus.”

“Hello my name is Chelsea” she replied.

“ Can I sit with you?”

“Yes, we can be best friends” she answered with the biggest smile on her face.

            From that day forward that is how I started to meet people and make new friends. It was difficult to keep it up being the fact that my mother and father had their own way of speaking. English was foreign to my father, somewhat known to my mother.

            Entering high school was when everything really changed, I spoke English but also created something called “Laura Language” few people have understood it. Laura Language is somewhat like English and Slang but put together. For example “Idunno, yaw’ll, hellur” are a few of the words that I use often. Just mean, “I don’t know, yall all and hello.” I was switched all around, placed in three different advisories. Mr. Lucci’s advisory is where I ended up. I hated it there with a passion. I missed my other friends that I had meet but I had no choice.

“ Hi, Hi, Hi, Hi, I’m Victoria!!”

“Umm, hello.”

“ Whatcha doinnnnnnnnn?”

“ Chillin’, actin’ like you ain’t able to see that.”

“ I like candy, do you like candy?”

“ Why the hell are you talkin’ to me?”

            So on and so forth. Ive been told I speak with an attitude which I know, but I really don’t pay attention to. It comes out to be “disrespectful” I don’t mean for it to be in that way, but I don’t necessarily stop it. Like Mike Rose says in I Just Wanna Be Average, “ But I did learn things about people and eventually came into my own socially” I learned a lot about the world and how they speak I just meshed it all together. My friends and I speak very similar, rude and not caring about what we say to each other because we know that we are all comfortable. When it comes to adults, or my parents my whole language flips.

“Hi, my name is Laura.”

“Hello, how do you do?”

“Fine, thank you and yourself?”

“I’m good as well.”

“That’s good to hear.”

            Growing up with a family who speaks only Spanish is harder than a child with English speaking parents. Jobs and higher positions are given to native speakers because they have more to offer. Society makes fun of people who have accents and speaking deficiencies only for the simple fact in their eyes we have “issues.”

            I learned to love myself and the person I am, even my speaking is not as well as others. I’m not saying that I sound like I don’t belong and cant speak to save my life, but people have to question what race I am, and if I’m telling the truth. I wouldn’t change the way I was raised or where I attended school, I like the fact that I am different, where people have to question “ Who is she?” “Is she white or Rican?”

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The trip I took where I discovered my accent

Brandon Mangum



The trip I took where I discovered my accent


I will always remember the first time I discovered I had an accent. It was about five years ago when my family and I went on a family vacation to my mother’s birthplace, Antigua. It is a nice small island in the Caribbean. Shortly after we arrived my aunt picked us up from the airport. When I saw her, I said “hello.” She said it back, along with some other stuff I couldn’t understand very well. I had no clue what she said because she spoke very fast and with a heavy accent. To me, it sounded like she said “Hey-o tap don here”. I was very confused and didn’t know-how to respond to that so I just said “Okay”. She laughed at me.

“How are you doing Aunt Carmen?”

“Good boy, wagwan?”


“That means what’s going on Brandon, that’s just how people say it here”

“Oh okay. I’m good, how long did it take you to get here?”

“Tree minnut,”

“What?” My mom repeated her and said “Three minutes Brandon” because she knew I wouldn’t understand what she said. My aunt then drove us to her home. I unpack all of my things in my room and then walked to a local restaurant.

“Hi, can I get a cheese steak platter please” The waiter looked at me with a strange look on his face.

“What chu chat bout.” I asked him again and this time I pointed to a picture of a sandwich. Then he asked me if I was American. I was confused in what that had to do with anything, but I still responded.

 “Yes I am, why?”

“Ohhh, I con tell from ya accent, me boy. Ya yankee.”

“What do you mean? I don’t have an accent. What’s a yankee?”

“Ya lie, yu got accent. Yankee’s American’s”

“No I don’t, you have an accent, and I speak normal.”

He said something else to me but I was unsure in what he said, it sounded like he said, “ya wrong me young bud boy.” I was ten at the time so I just thought he was dumb. I started to get mad because he insisted I had an accent, since I live in America everyone talks the same, we don’t think of ourselves having an accents. We just think that we speak “normal” and if anyone speaks different from us we think that they are strange and they have an accent or dialect. Because of how we are in America, It made me a little confused when he kept on addressing the fact I had an accent.

I left the store and went home so I can eat with my family. I walked into the kitchen surprised to see my cousin. I was happy to see them but also kind of mad because I felt that these were more people I’m going to have a hard time understanding. I thought it might be best if I tried to speak like them.

“Wagwan Mon.”

 “Good man, what’s up man?” I felt weird after I said that, but I thought that’s how they talk and they will understand me.

“Look how big ye got, how old ya be?”

“Ten, man” all of a sudden my cousin starts to make a strange face. I reflected on what I said that would cause her to do that. I thought maybe it could be because I said “man” after every sentence. Or maybe it’s because I didn’t pronounce “man” like they do. I began talking normally again because evidently I was doing something wrong.

Mike Rose said something in his story that can relates to my situation. In I just wanna be average, Mike Rose wrote “The curse of a moderately soulful kid trapped in white skin.” In his story Mike is a new student at a new school and most of the students that attend that school are a different race then he is. Mike sticks out compared to all of the others. The quote explains a lot, it make me feel better because now I know that if they were in the U.S., they would have a hard time understanding us and our slang as I do in Antigua. Mike Rose is saying that if you are trapped in a place that has a different way with words then you are used to, it will cause you will stick out. Now I know if I don’t completely understand someone it’s not my fault, it’s just because of where I am. People can tell a lot from the way a person speak, they can identify their race, age, and even where a person lives.

My cousins wanted to help me fit in around there so they are helping me speak with their dialect. It was hard for me to catch on because it was so different from what I’m used to saying. Most of the common phases that people use a lot, Antiguan would say different. Words like “ stop nah, no nyum um, not at tall, me no know, and me gal” are word they say and use on a daily bases. For the most part I don’t know what they meant.  But I slowly learned and was able to finish the rest of my vacation “fitting in”. I never thought it would be a dialect that is so far off from mines. After the trip their I learned a lot about how people can tell so much just from how a person talk and that people will stick out if you speak different. I’m with my cousins help it wouldn’t be next that next time and I would feel so alone or “trapped in a white skin.”



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Say it Again: Matthew Marshall

Say it again

“Say it again,” said Kimberly, my cousin, excitedly.

“Cir,” I said. It was supposed to be car but I had an accent.

“Why do you say it like that,” Nick, my brother asked.

To me saying ‘cir’ was car. I was confused, “I don’t know it just sort of comes out that way.”

Later that day we went to my father.
“Dad listen to this, Matt say car,” Nick said.


“Why do you sound like that,” asked my father.

“I don’t know it just sort of comes out like that.”

“Aunt Cynthia is a speech therapist. Do you want to go to her about it?”

“No, I’m sure it will just go away.” At this point I was getting upset. I didn’t want to be different, and I didn’t hear a difference. This all happened while we were camping. The next day at school more of my friends noticed my accent.

“That’s weird. Say Rochelle,” my friend Rochelle said.

“Rochelle.” I said it completely normally.

“Alright now say car again.”


“Weird. Say Park.”


“So you can’t say the letter r. You can make the sound that r makes, but you can’t say the letter.”


This has happened countless times. I thought that the people who found it the weirdest would be my friends, however I was wrong. My third grade teacher, Ms. Westcott, was the worst about it. She devoted an entire hour making me say words that I couldn’t say. Even after that she couldn’t understand the words I was trying to say.

“Where are you from,” she asked the same day.


“How about your parents?”


“Then how do you have an accent?”

“I don’t know,” and the truth is I didn’t. I hadn’t figured it out.

My brother would have to convey information. He always understood it the best. The reason is that he was exposed to it the most. He was my best friend; we lived together, and had every class together. He also lacks the accent, which was more convenient for translating.

I tried again and again to get rid of my accent. To repeat the word car or park so I could be normal again. I wanted to sound like everybody else. Mike Rose writes, “Who wants to be normal,” in his book “I just wanna be average.” The answer was, me. I wanted to be like all of the other people in my class. Speak and act like them. However, after a few years, I realized my accent represented me. My brother and I are identical twins and people get us confused. Then I developed my accent. It became my identity, my difference from Nick. To tell us apart, people tell us to talk. I finally had my own thing. I was no longer one of the twins. I was the twin with the accent. I was the kid with the accent (although everybody still called me Matt). And I liked that.

I realized that not everybody is the same. Everybody had their own thing that set them apart from everybody else. Mine, of course, was my accent. There were smart kids and funny kids, but nobody had an accent like I did. I was special.

High school brought on a new experience. Nick wasn’t there to translate, even though my accent had lessened through the years. I was afraid I would have to write the words I was trying to say. But nobody noticed my accent. Most of my class understood my accent. It wasn’t until I pointed it out one day in history that people started to notice, or at least ask about it.

“Wait. Say park again.”


“Where does you accent come from?”

“I’m not sure. It just kinda developed when I was in second grade.”

“Oh. Alright.”

And that was it. Nothing else except the occasional “say car again.” I was shocked. People picked up the words I was saying much faster than in elementary school. I felt like I lost what had set me apart. I knew I still had it though. I never noticed it though, until I had to make a video. I realized how weird I sounded.

It wasn’t until English class this year that I knew where my accent came from. We watched a video about language. The video told us that people from Boston were about to speak. My friend Victoria, who was sitting next to me, said, “Hey it’s your people.”

“No they aren’t I can say Merge,” this was soon after a man on the video said Merge (meaning Marge).

Victoria just laughed.

“Alright but I can say perk.”

That’s when I came to the realization that I had a Boston accent. It wasn’t until we wrote this paper that I realized how my accent has effect my life. It was my identity for a long time. My language never controlled me; I didn’t stop speaking because of it. I didn’t change because of it. I instead let it become me, let it set me apart.



Words Speak Louder Than Actions - Eric Loth

Words Speak Louder Than Actions

Blood flowing through my veins, my heart pumping like the speed of light. It’s my time to go. I know I have to talk right, more professionally because I don’t want them to look down on me. I’ve got to represent the person I really am, not someone coming out of the streets. I have to show them what I am made of. I mean talking to the principal of a highly intelligent high school is a big deal. Each word that I will be saying will show respect, confidence and that I was taught right. But honestly what I am about to say is nothing compared to my normal life. I feel that sometimes with certain people it is good to have a little change in the way I speak, just to show that I can represent myself correctly. If they ever find out the way I talk back home with my friends it would be a disgrace for me. The feeling of un-achievement will crawl up my skin.

“Hello Mr. Chris, how are you today?” I said. Once I had opened my mouth and talked, my whole mind just turned pitch black. If a person were in a room with a bunch of special people knowing that they are focusing on every single move someone is to do, anybody would feel awkward.

“Good day nice weather, come. Come take a seat with us” He said. It was not that noticeable but my legs felt like springs when he had told me to sit down. In my mind I was so happy but meanwhile my nervous side was blocking most of this.

“Calm down, remember he is just human like you.” The lady said I thought to myself and said, “Yea she’s right. Let me just get this done and over with.

“So I was told that you really, really want to come to this school.” Mr. Chris said. I was afraid to answer because he might counter back with another question that I probably won’t be able to answer right. So I just left it off with a simple, but surprising yes. This was my biggest achievement of the year 2010.

Sitting down in the super comfortable chair really helps calm my nerves down. I have to say the way I felt coming in has changed in like only 5 minutes. I felt like I was at home for a second. Then I was knocked back into reality.

“Eric if you could just sign a couple of papers then you would be good to go.” Mr. Chris said. My hand grabbed for the pen, this felt like a good moment. If I would ever write a story of my life this would be in it.  The pen went on the paper and so did my name. I was ready for what was coming up for me. I can tell by my mom face she was proud. Even though she kept the same face on I’m pretty sure this was how I felt.

            After everything was done I went home, relieved of what I just did. Then I called up some friends to go play ball.

“Yo homie, trina go play some ball today down smith.” I said. I went to go take a shower and packed up all of my stuff and I was out the house. I was happy to tell them some good news but I don’t know how they will take it.

“Yo, guess what. I got accepted to the high school I applied to.” I said.

“Forrr reallll, yo that’s cool”. Friend said.

 I could tell he wasn’t happy but I had to do what was best for me. Back in the 8th grade we applied to the same high schools but we didn’t get accepted to the ones we wanted to. Our only choose left was to go to a neighbor hood school. We told each other that in high school no matter what we got each other’s back. But I guess this wasn’t going to be happening anymore. I can tell by his face expression that he was mad but I’m pretty sure at some point he would be like “Well, ya know if ya think it’s the right way to go, then go”.           

            We played ball until the end of the day then we all just left. On my way home my phone rang, it was my mother.

“Hello Eric.” Mom said

“Yes Mother.” I said

“Where are you at?”

“I’m still at the park playing ball.”

“Well hurry up its 8 o’clock.”

“Ard mom I’ll be home when ever I want.” I said.

“What did you just say, are you suppose to be talking to me like that son.”

“Oh sorry, I meant ill be home in a couple of minutes.”

“Okay well hurry up.”

Honestly I couldn’t understand a word my mom was saying. Knowing two languages and mixing them up gets confusing at times. But that is just how she normally speaks. I feel that we speak almost alike because we both know two of the same languages. Some times my other accent comes out when I speak English and I just have that awkward moment. During my interview this was one of my biggest fear, but I guess being scared of something happening makes it not happen.

            Once I read a quote from James Baldwin’s essay “If Black English isn’t a Language, Then Tell me, What is?” the quote stated “there have been, and are times and places when to speak a certain language could be dangerous even fatal” This quote is told me to be careful of what I say and where I say it. Just like the dialogue with my mom and I. It is not fatal but dangerous because it could lead to a habit. What is fatal is me speaking Khmer in front of a bunch of people that don’t know it. The first thing that will go to their mind is that I’m talking about them and could lead to some serious problems.

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History plays a factor on how we speak

History plays a factor on how we speak

If you want to know how my family talks, you should listen to my Uncle.

“Yo, was up Josh!” This is a typical greeting from him.

“Nottin chillin, chillin, you know just doin me.” I said, as I was getting up to shake his hand.

“Hey can I use your laptop for a minute? So I can download some music to my iphone…. Really quick.”

 “Yeah. It’s over there on the table.”

 “Yo nigga how you do this s***!!”

See, I grew up to a lot of people speaking to me mostly in slang and I’m sure I wasn’t the only one. Mostly everyone I have seen grew up with people talking to them in slang, so in a way you can say that slang shows up in everyone’s history. In mine, you would see that we use it like everyday. I was so use to people speaking in slang but as I got older I started to really listen to how I spoke with most of the elders I came across, with them I used less slang and started to speak more proper. Like instead of saying “wassup grandpa,” I said, “Hey grandpa how are you”. This will also show up when I talked with most of my teachers. I would use less slang. Sometimes I would even use none at all. There are some teachers I would talk to in slang but that’s only if they talk to me in slang. The way I respond to people all depends on how they talk to me. To me, it’s funny when I hear one of my cousins talk. He lives in New York and for some reason when he spoke he always had the word “son” at the end of ever sentence. He would say something like “hey wass up,” son or “yo son you better stop playin with me, or I’m gonna f*** you up son”. I always thought that was funny how no matter what he said he always had the word son in it. The reason why I think he used to say son a lot might be because he grew up in an environment where other people did it too. He might have picked it up from someone else too. If you think about it the way people speak can go back generations or even decades.

When people think of speaking proper most think of white people because back in the day, whites were educated. A quote from “Professor Willie Lynch’s Speech,” where he says “Gentlemen. I greet you here on the bank of the James River in the year of our Lord one thousand seven hundred and twelve. First, I shall thank you, the gentlemen of the Colony of Virginia, for bringing me here,” shows this. He says that speaking proper original comes from educated white folks back way back when. Slang must originate from slaves, if speaking proper is speaking like a white educated person. Then speaking in slang must mean speaking like a slave. We can see this in “Her Days As A Slave Famous Speech
by Mary Reynolds,” she talks about how her days as a slave were like. She says in one of her paragraphs I was jus' bout big nough to start playin' with a broom to go bout sweepin' up and not even half doin' it when Dr. Kilpatrick sold me.” When she was speaking it sounds similar to the way most teens speak today.

The way people speak today all depend on how people used to speak decades ago. See today it might be a little bit different the way people speak but it all still comes from the roots of the past. If people in the past spoke differently, then that would have probably made a major difference on how we speak today. Also, in the essay that we reed in class called “If black English isn’t language then tell me what is?” by James Baldwin. It said, “The brutal truth is that the bulk of white people in America never had any interest in educating black people, except as this could serve white purpose.” In this case this shows that since whites never educated blacks in the back days. They had to come up with another way to speak to each other, which creates the existence of the word “slang” because that’s how they used to speak to each other.

The history of a person’s life can really influence how they speak. Since people back in slavery times came up with a way to speak to each other, they still use it today. In personal experience, the people around me speak in slang. So in a way I adapted to my environment. Without history then people today will not have the same type of language we use today.


















































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“If I feel this way, why did I conform?" Victoria Yarbrough

Victoria Yarbrough

January 4, 2012

“If I feel this way, why did I conform?"


“You better go clean that room of yours or you’re not going anywhere this weekend Miss lady.”

“Ard, c’mon ma you ain’t gotta be like that.” My mom quirked an eyebrow at me as if I spoke another language at her.

“Excuse me?”

“I said, that you don’t gotta be like that.”

My mom repeated what I said phonically as if reading a dictionary’s guide on how to pronounce words.

“Eye Sed, Dat you doune gottuh bee lak dat.” She over enunciated and rolled her eyes.

“Straighten up. Save that ghetto speech for your friends, you will speak proper in this house. That’s not how you were brought up, talking that way is not cute.” I sucked my teeth,

“How is it wrong? And further more how do you know what’s wrong and what’s not when it comes to the way I speak? Did you create language?” I was insulted. But my mother didn’t want to hear any more of it. So I changed the way I spoke. I always held onto the idea that I would never change who I am or the parts that make me, but I did in fear of judgment. Even though I changed up, I always wonder to myself: Who am I, without my own individualistic ideas and ways? Why isn’t it okay to speak freely? And more importantly, if I feel this way, why did I conform?


The people in my house detest my use of slang or modern gestures; they believe that it is distasteful and therefore wrong.  My feelings however, counteract the opinions of my elders. How could it be, when it evolved from the slang of their generations? Who are they to decide on what's proper and what is not? I personally believe that language is what you make it, that’s the point of it. Language was created so people can express themselves. We all have different ways of expressing ourselves, so how could one way possibly be the right way? It isn’t hard to speak ‘properly’- whatever that is- but it’s not necessarily what I want to do all of the time.


My mother thinks that the way you speak can give away where you come from, and where you’re headed like James Baldwin in “If Black English isn’t a language, then tell me what is”. He brings up the same point and talks about how it can divorce you from the public or the major identity. And In a way their both right, if you went to a job interview speaking the latest slang of the streets, you’re more than most likely not going to get that job. This doesn’t exactly mean that you’re not eligible however, or that you’re wrong for showing who you actually are, but it does mean that you’re being judged. I would be lying if I said that I didn’t change my voice up depending on whom I’m around. And here is where I contradict myself, but then again maybe not. Switching around is apart of who I am too. In school, I speak differently than I do around my family. And when I do it, I do it effortlessly

“Yo dawg, you’re not gonna beat me in Tekken, I’mma pick Steve Fox and go in on that ass.” My cousin Vernon says.

“Chill, Christie gonna tear you up, yam’ sayin?” I retort.

This is the typical conversation at any of my cousins’ houses. We play video games and exchange intimidating remarks. At school however, it’s a tad bit different.

“Um, Can you pass me the stapler please and thank you? I need to staple this and get it to Mr. Reddy or he’ll kill me.” I sweetly ask any one of my peers.

“Yeah sure! Here you go.” They may reply. If that were one of my cousins, they would not have been asked so nicely, our conversation would not have been about stapling papers in the first place.


That day when my mother told me that the way I spoke was “not cute.”, I made a mental note to speak proper around her and any other adult. I put a chain on my tongue because I don’t want to be viewed, as something I’m not, even if the way I speak can’t determine what I am. I want to lessen my chances of judgment as much as I can. All in all, switching the way I speak isn’t too bad. I can confuse both adults and teenagers alike, by switching up just a few words. In a way, I have the upper hand in most conversations. In my eyes, that is never a bad thing.   






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A Sanctified Women’s Bible Study (BM #2)

Jalen Smith  1/4/12

Quarter BM- Language Essay                             

       How Does Language Intersect With Identity?

                               A Sanctified Women’s Bible Study                                                      

“Jalen, Jalen it is time to wake up shug. Time to have us some bible study. Meet us down stairs ok shug.” 

“Alright Aunt Shirley, coming soon.” I replied politely.

I told Aunt Shirley I would be coming soon but all I can think is; Oh lord, this women is crazy. Calling herself trying to have bible study at 7:30 in the morning, or at least she is crazy enough to tag me along in the religious participation on my vacation. I found her demands to be a little too oblivious to my expectations of what I had planned for this vacation. This is supposed to be my vacation, and I didn’t want to wake up early on a day like this. Just because she is a pastor and all, doesn’t mean she has to be spreading the word of god. She did this so often that it had gotten to the point where she exaggerated every little thing drawing all the attention to her. No one ever paid any attention to me anymore. All eyes and ears were on her. 

Some times I feel really frustrated with my aunt Shirley. I love her but I don’t like how she uses up more of her energy pastoring instead paying attention to me. I mean, In my opinion an aunt is supposed to love and welcome their nephew more than she is suppose to lecture and preach about her job and religion. I tried understanding why my aunt was treating me like this but just couldn’t figure it out. I was too annoyed with the way I felt that I just couldn’t bring my self to put myself in her shoes. I understood that my aunt truly believed in what she preached and that she wanted others to as well. But sometimes I come to the conclusion that she loves Jesus more than she loves me.  

  Nobody is going to want to be around her. She always talks about Jesus. Jesus this and Jesus that, even around others. Not just me. There is a place for everything, and pastoring should be done in the church and not anywhere else. 

After I had completed all my thoughts about my problems with aunt Shirley I realized that she was still here.

“Come on Jalen, mama said to come down stairs now.” Aunt Shirley said.

“Alright!” I said, with force.

“Jalen we got some Bojangles, come on here. You betta come down stairs and get you some chicken and then after that we can have some bible study” said Aunt Shirley

I hurried and got ready. I ran down the steps to the kitchen, and I saw a whole bunch of people around the table. I started thinking quietly to myself again “she done called the whole family to the table.” I gagged. All my 50 million cousins were gathered around the table. Ten thousand biblical posters, hundreds of bibles and millions of sermon papers were all over the place. I knew that we were going to be in for a terrible vacation bible school lesson. 

After staring at all the biblical work my aunt said,

“Alright how did you sleep last night shug?” 

I wanted to say: “I slept good until you woke me up” but instead I answered “yes mam, I slept great last night”, with a satisfied tone of voice.

“Good, now get you sumna eat so we can have us some bible study.” She said.

“Yes mam.” I replied looking at the floor.

I felt doomed and I thought I was in church on a regular Sunday morning, instead of my aunt’s house, but at least she managed to ask me how my night was instead of going on about how great Jesus is.

Like I said before I love my aunt, even though my Aunt is very self-seeking when it comes to Christianity. And when it comes to support and love she is anything but self-seeking. After gorging my face with chicken, bowl berry biscuits and rice I felt this unfamiliar feeling of awkwardness, knowing that it was morning and we were sitting up here eaten some dinner food when it was the morning time. I shoved that thought away I sat down at the dinning room table and she began. 

“ The Laud Shall Suplay All Uv My Needs According To His Riches In Gloray. Alrayt Jalen I woon’t you to read the 10 coommandments.“ She ordered like a preacher in a church.

“Yes mam. You must put god first, Respect your parents, Do not be envious of others.” I said bored.

“Oh noooo shug you caint say that, it saays “Do not be envayous of others.” You gotta make sure to say exactly everything that the laud says. We gotta do this one more again honey bunches of oats.” She said stern.

Already I felt as though Aunt Shirley was going to chop me up and spit me out just because I pronounced the words differently than she does. I said everything that the paper was saying and felt like I had a guard on, the whole time as to please her. As I read the paper she knew that she is from North Carolina  and that I’m from Philadelphia, but yet she still continued to stagger me about forming my words with a southern accent so as to sound like a southern boy who was living in California like she was.  She assumes that, just because I say things differently from the ways she says them that I am mixing up the words of the lord. Her assumptions and expectations are becoming unbearable; she assumes I am wrong she expects me to be a “Christian-holic” like her.  I sighed unable to do anything about my disagreement and carried along with my biblical side, reading what she wanted me to.   

“You must out god first Respect you parents, Do not be envayous of others, Remember God’s Sabbath.” 

“You caint say that baby cakes. The laud didn’t say that shug. He saay’s Remamber God’s Saybbath shug. You gotta get this rioght hun.”  She said.

That was when I had just expressed the truth as to how I was feeling about being ordered to pronounce the way I’m not used to. Of course I did it in the most quaint and polite way possible, not to offend her or God but just enough to get my point across.

“ Aunt Shirley, I am saying everything right but you are always correcting me just because I have different dialect than you. I am reading exactly what the paper is saying. When you keep correcting me over small grammatical errors I makes me feel non intelligent. I feel like I am in a spanish class room and every-time I speak spanish I get the accents wrong but this is plain english. I am speaking correct english and the bible was written in plain english. Jesus also known as the “lord” spoke clearly with no accents even though he did speak a different language. We all have different ways in which we speak and I don’t think that it is right for you to keep correcting me over accents.” I finally and conclusively stated my frustration.

“ Well I am so sorry darling. I didn’t mean to be so hard on you and make you think that you are non intelligent. It’s just that I have been speakin’ with a southern accent fo’ many years and sometimes when I hear someones dialact from the east coast it sounds confusing to me shug. I so sorry hun and I don’t won’t you to think that I am a bad aunty. She replied to me apologetically. 

“No Aunt Shirley I love you and I forgive you for correcting me. I know that sometimes it is difficult to hear a different dialect from someone and sometimes you want to correct it because it is not familiar to you but just know that everyone are different and you can’t always correct everyone because you may hurt someones feelings.”

“Okay my honey bunches of oats. I will take that in consideration, now I know what to do when something like that happens again. Would you like me to make you some pig feet shug?”

“Yes mam, I would greatly appreciate that.” I said with a smile to her thoughtful offer to make up for her mistake.  

My situation with my aunt at that moment reminded me of a story called “The Woman Warrior” By, Maxine Hong Kingston. This was a story about a girl who similarly like me. She was urged to speak “properly” as to what her mother’s requirements were. She did not meet her mother’s requirements and so her mother out of “love” literally cut a portion of her daughters tongue off. In my case it was my aunt that was trying to correct my dialect to the way she talked which was a southern accent, but at least I did not literally get my tong cut off. I only got pronging criticism. 

“I cut it so that it could not be tongue-tied. Your tong would be able to move in any language”.

Said the mother of her tongue-tied daughter. 

I feel like I can closely relate to the character from the story. Even though my situation was not nearly as drastic as hers. since an elder that she really loved- her mother was nagging her about changing a part of who she was just like my aunt was doing to me. 

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Tawking: Taylor Thomas


Taylor Thomas

            “Taylor, can you say ‘Can we have a talk after I drink a glass of water’?”

“Can we have a tawk after I drink ae gliass of wooder?”

My sister laughed at me. She looked out the window of the car. I do not mind that she thinks it is funny. I make fun of her accent as well. Her and I have very different backgrounds, even though we both grew up in the same area. She speaks very properly, because she goes to school in the suburbs. She is around people that “Speak with an outstanding vocabulary and superior pronunciation.” However, I grew up around people that speak with a South Philadelphia accent. I grew up around people who “Speek wit an ok vocabalary, and a Sou-Philly pronunciatian.”

            Casey was wearing an orange shirt that had yellow polka dots on it one day. I had gotten it for her.

“Do you like this shirt on me?” She asked.

 “Yeah Case, but tha poke-a dots don’t match tha piants.” I replied. She looked confused.

“Hello? Aure ya there?” I asked.

“What did you just say?” She asked. I repeated myself. She thought that I had said, “don’t poke the dots, don’t match the pains.” I can understand why that would make her confused. Since we have two different accents, it can get in the way of us having conversations sometimes.

            If Casey and I were to be in public together, people can tell that we are sisters when we aren’t talking, but once we both start to talk they are not so sure anymore. We both sound completely different. We only say a few words the same, if any at all. Some of the words are “Mom, Dad, and Straiten.” Our parents notice this as well.

I remember when we were little; Casey and I sounded more like each other. Before I reached fifth grade, we sounded identical. Ever since that year, it was never the same. During fifth grade, I would hang out with my cousin more and more. Today we are almost in separable.

I have a little bit less of a South Philadelphia accent then my cousin, so when Casey talks to our cousin, she has a blast asking her questions like, “Can you say ‘I have to go to Acme?” she would reply with “I gotta go ta tha Ack-a-mee”

Casey finds it so interesting that people can speak so much differently then she does. She is only in seventh grade and she hasn’t really been to places where people have accents. She grew up thinking that the way she spoke was the only way. She only saw people that spoke differently in movies and things.

When Casey was young, she met a man who had a very strong southern accent. She was baffled by how strong of an accent he had. He was a cashier for a grocery store. Casey had gone in with my mother to buy food. He was speaking to my mother and he said

“Good mo’nin ma’am. How ya doin on dis faun day?” Casey’s jaw dropped. She was confused.

“Sir, why are you talking funny?” she asked the man. My mother was very embarrassed at this point. She pulled Casey back and told her that was a very rude question. She did nokjt understand why so she repeated herself. The man laughed.

“Ahm from da souf. We talk lak dis down der.” He laughed.

Even though Casey and I live in the same house, we have completely different accents. We speak the same language but we merely sound different. In James Baldwin’s article, “If Black English Isn’t a Language, Then Tell Me, What Is?” He notes “A Frenchman living in Paris speaks subtly and crucially different language from that of the man living in Marseilles.” This shows that you can speak the same language and talk completely different. 

The way you speak and the vocabulary that you use has a big affect on your identity. Some people can tell where you are from and where you grew up by the way you speak. At times they are wrong though. Many people ask me if I am from South Philly. Most of the time I want to say yes, because I am there so often, yet I am from Roxoborough so I cannot say that.

There are many accents in my family today. Casey has a very proper accent, my older sister Devon is starting to get a North Carolinian accent because she just moved there. My mother has a half South Philly accent half proper accent, and my father has a little bit more a South Philly accent then my mom. Casey has gotten used to all of these accents almost but it’s still fun for her to ask one of us to say a phrase every once in a while.


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The Language of the Speaker

Aazimah Muhammad


“Are you hungry?” My brother asked me.

“Yeoa, a liottle.., do you have food foe me” I replied.

“Why are you talking like that” he said

“Like what, do I sound funny?” I said very confused

“Yes, you hang around those Hispanics and your picking it up” He chuckled at my funny sound speech.

“It will go away soon when I get home.” I said.  

A few summers ago, maybe in 2008, I went to Florida to visit my brother. I wasn’t excited because I didn’t have friends and barely knew anyone. So they enrolled me into a summer camp. In Miami there are a bunch of Hispanics and Spanish speaking people.  At camp, I made a few friends that were Dominican. Hanging around with them all day helped me picked up the same accent that they had. When my brother came to pick me up later on that day, I was talking to him and he was questioning where I had gotten an accent. I hadn’t noticed the accent because it sounded normal to me. Except I did notice that he sounded different from me. That was years ago, now when I got to visit him, he and his children have an accent. Looking back at that summer, I was thinking maybe if I had spent 2 years down there, would I have a permanent accent?


When speaking I can express myself. I'm not too pressed on what people think about they way I speak, so I speak saying the things I want to say. Sometimes I have to speak differently, when I'm at home, I have to slow down and annunciate my words. When I'm at school, I slur words and speak very fast. I am comfortable with speaking fast and not too clear. That sounds backwards, but slang is a huge part of vocabulary. I can speak on a level as someone who attends Howard University, although I wouldn't speak like that everyday of my life, that is not comfortable to me. I would rather speak the way I can understand and the way that shows who I am. I am a 15 years old female, who is from North Philadelphia. I also speak like I am a 15-year-old female living in the hardest part of Philly. I mean it’s who I am and where I'm from. “It revels the private identity and connects one with or divorces one from the larger public communal identity” James Baldwin in If Black Language isn’t a Language What is.  I feel like James Baldwin and I have something similar here. I speak the way I know how and what is comfortable to me. That is not so much of my private identity, but it is something that I would label my identity in general.

Sometimes when I listen to the way my friends and I speak to each other, I have to stop and think about when we learned to speak like that from, its because we hear is a lot. It’s also because we want to say some things that adults wouldn’t really understand, something like a code. Speaking out loud about something that should be said in front of certain people is ok when they don’t understand you. “…What resource left to them to create their own language? A language which they can connect back their identity to, one capable of communicating the relatives and values…” Glorvia Anzaldua in How to Tame a Wild Tongue. As teenagers we speak to each other a lot about things that don’t really matter, although we have to make it so that were talking about something important. There are many components that make up a teenagers language that not even I understand, but someone understand it.

People in the world speak many different things, but if you don’t understand it do you speak it? Of course not.  The deepest understanding of language is to speak what you know, and understand what you can, repeat what you learn. 

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I Am What I Am Because...

Markietra Keese

January 4,2012

Language Autobiography

I am What I Am Because….

“Hey. How was ya day?”

“It was fine mom.”

“What you do?”


“Nothin? How come you never do nothin? Make sure you clean up after that dog, I been watchin ‘em all day.”

“I don’t know I jus don’t. And okay.”

The conversations with my parents are very chill. I do not use slang around them but it is still like having a normal conversation. I was raised to respect my elders, and to keep whatever I learned in the streets out in the streets, which is the reason why I don’t use slang around them. That is what I have always done. I separated my family, friends, and business.

My family is from the south so we use y’all a lot. My parents’ language was never the best either, so I don’t have to try to be proper. I think that it is actually easier to talk with my parents more than friends and siblings anyway. I don’t have to worry about the slang or the cursing, so sometimes it is easier to get my point across.

With my brothers and sisters it’s also pretty chill talking to them to, but it gets really hard trying not to curse in front of them, since most of the time they do stuff to make me want to curse. But I’m not stupid enough to do it because I know that they would snitch on me in a second. Around them I learned to keep my comments to myself, and just say my smart remarks out loud. It pisses them off sometimes but they can’t say that there not funny.

Talking to my friends is completely different. “ Hey girl!”

“Hey boo! What you doin?”

“Oh my God, let me tell you with this n***a said to me.”

“What he say?” “Look at this text message.”

“Oop no the f**k he didn’t, n***a bout to get murked. And what chu say?” “Here girl read it.”

“ Yes! You let him know because….”

         When my friends and I are together they bring out my crazy, funny side. Our conversations are hilarious, but we use a lot of profanity and slang. I personally do not use as much slang, but I still have to know what it means, or I will start to feel out of place. Even if it is my first time hearing it if I don’t know what it means I always ask some that won’t laugh at me.

The way my friends and me talk might be confusing for someone that has not been around us that long, just because we don’t always talk. You have to know our signals. Our facial expressions will say it all. We can have a whole conversation without even talking and just by making sounds and giving facials expressions.

I still know how to keep that side of me away from the side that I only show parents. I don’t think my parents would like to see how I act when they’re not around. I do not change myself I just show different sides of myself.

My business/ serious personality is also a main part of my language. Around teachers I have to be respectful because that is what I have always been taught. I keep that same side showing for my boss even though she has known me for years and knows how I act; I still have to keep it professional. I would never use slang, and will always pronounce things correctly and annunciate my words.

Your language is your identity. How you talk makes you who you are. My language is in categories from how I talk to my parents and siblings to how I talk to my friends and bosses. You always need different sides of yourself, because that is what makes you. In the book Borderlands/ La Montera by Giona Anzaldúa says a quote about language being your own identity. “What recourse is there but to create their own language? A language which they can connect their own identity…” p.77.

For centuries people have created their own language to communicate. That is what makes an identity. Slang is like a language created by people to communicate with each other. It’s something that people can choose to use if they want and something that is picked up on. My language is my own identity. It is how I talk to certain people and makes me who I am. 

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My English is Better than Yours?

“G’day Mate,”

“Howdy, partner! Ya’ll from round these parts? ”

“Haha Ayo Key, pass me thee chips!”

“Ard. Yo I don’t understand why they be talking so weird and they accents oh my gosh!”

“Right they always talking bout us and the way we break things down, and how we speak but the way they speak is all wrong can’t nobody understand what the hell they be saying they need to correct that Shit!”

“Nah Sha, I mean I wouldn’t call it wrong but its just real different from us. I mean other countries just put such strong emphasis on their words or at least too much, I mean I don’t know but that doesn’t mean the way they pronounce it is wrong haha.”

That was the day I actually began to think about languages, accents and the way certain people speak all over the world. When coming across new and different people who pronounce words different from the way we’re accustomed to people always begin to pin point and judge. They may call it “weird” or “wrong”, but the real question is “is the way we speak right or wrong?”

“F’ that Key, yo look dey just speak like outta with too much sound and emphasis or they sound to uptight like something stuck up there nose.”

“Okay’ so if people who speak with different accents seem wrong or uptight what do we sound like.”


“That makes no sense. What if we’re actually the ones speaking and pronouncing things incorrectly?”

“We’re not.”

“How do you know that, you didn’t create all words and its pronunciations did you.”

“Naw but…”

“Ard den haha. I mean I’m not gonna lie doe the way they speak, it doesn’t sound regular to me but bet we sound just as bad to their ears.”


“Weird, wrong, incorrect, uncommon!” We use those words not only based off of the way that other speak and the accents they’re accustomed to, but base what’s right from wrong in our minds off of the way it has been "taught" to us. Language is only what people make it to be know one can say a language is right or wrong basing the fact that no one is one hundred percent sure if the way their pronouncing their words is the “right way” to say them.

“Key lemme ask you this, do you think you speak normal?”

“Hell yeah! Haha you can ask anyone that and they’ll tell you they believe they speak normal. Do you think you speak normal?”

“Sho do! Haha lemme stop, I can speak normally, you know full sentences and etc but this is they way I chose to speak. That don’t make the way I speak wrong and people shouldn’t judge me off of it.”

“Okay so that doesn’t make the way they speak incorrect either. You speak the way you speak because not only is that the way that you’ve been taught but since it feels normal to you, you’re not going to change it. That’s probably the same way someone else that you’re judging feels.”

“Shut up Key! Haha you think you smart”

“Ayee’ I’m jus sayin.”

 “English Accents” you hear them all over the world from North America to Australia, South America to England and etc. Is one better than the other? The area we live in, our surroundings, and the different types of cultures we are accustomed to defines the way we speak. Having accents are just ways to take the English language and expand it to different and unique ways of speaking. “In Black English isn’t a language, then tell me what is,” by James Baldwlin he say “language, incontestably, reveals the speaker”.  Language is a big part of acknowledging someone’s identity. Everyone has a accent whether its very noticeable or very hard to hear, its one of out of millions of ways to makes us different from one another. By telling someone that they speak is incorrect is like disgracing someone’s whole identity.

James Baldwlin’s also states in, If Black English isn’t a language, then tell me what is; “Now no one can eat his cake and have it too”.

This means that when it comes down to languages and accents you can’t judge someone else’s without judging your own. How can we call the way someone else speaks incorrect when we’re not one hundred percent sure if the way we pronounce things is correct. Is there such thing as a right or wrong accent, or is it just a state of mind. Should we go around judging people based off the way they speak, or should we be complimenting them on how it’s so different but yet so unique?  We should find the positive on what so many people call a negative, and just embrace the different and unique accents we have in our English language. No one man is better than the other, unless ones mind let it be so.

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Setbacks of being bilingual.

Setbacks of being bilingual.

“Hey Doctor…”

“Hey! Let’s see… How did you sprain your ankle?”

“Well I was walking and I, I like… Do you know when you are like…?’’

“When you are like what?”

              He remained quiet while I searched my mind as if it was a dictionary. I struggled trying to figure out the words that could’ve described how I sprained my ankle.

“Like walking… and then you feel like you’re about to fall? What’s another word for that?”

“ Oh yes! That thing…”

            This happens to me almost everyday. When I’m supposed to explain something or even talk, I always struggle with some words. Considering the fact that I was born and raised in Puerto Rico, which is a Spanish-speaking country, I think it’s normal for me to have some difficulties with my English, but after a while, it has become annoying. Everybody says it’s good to speak two fluent languages, and that might be true. However, being bilingual also has its setbacks. When you are used to speak only one language and then you have to speak the other, it becomes confusing. It feels so different speaking a foreign language and personally, that creates frustration inside me.


“So how was your day?”

“ Oh, it was so…”

             I have it. I have the word right in my mind, but in Spanish. When this happens, all I can do is wait and check if there is any word in English that could mean the same thing as the word I am thinking about. If I can’t think of something, I just say the word in Spanish.

“It was so brutal!”

“Brutal? What does that mean?”

“Oh sorry, brutal means like… awesome or something like that.”

“Oh! That’s good!”

                Every time that happens, I sound like an uneducated girl who does not know what she is talking about. I look like I do not care about what we are talking about. This affects every single day of my life. I hate how a simple conversation can turn into a really awkward moment when someone asks me something and I do not know how to translate the words into English, so I end up saying the word in Spanish. I try my hardest to speak completely in English, but it is so difficult.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                         

                I have those two languages in my head, but mixed. Some words in English with words in Spanish. All mixed up in my head, crossing each other and coming out of my mouth when I don not know how to say the same word in the other language. This leads me to confusion. It’s frustrating when you want to explain something to one person and you can’t find the words to describe it, or they just come to my head but in the opposite language. Especially when you want to be as detailed as possible. That’s why most of the times I just say the first word that crosses my mind, even if it’s not the correct one or even close to that.

               In an essay I read by Richard Rodriguez, he was telling a story similar to mine. He once said: ‘’my words could not stretch far enough to form complete thoughts.’’ This totally describes my daily struggles with English. Every time I try to say something in English, I think in Spanish. When that happens, I try to act like I forgot the word, and just give a brief description or some clues until the other person figures out what the exact word is, but I get tired of that. I am tired of the Spanish getting in the way on almost every conversation I have. I want to speak freely and fluently. Without searching my brain’s ''dictionary/translator'', without thinking that I have to be really careful on what I say and how I pronounce it, and without trying to fake my accent. All that so I can sound normal and seem like I know what I’m saying.

               There is a point where you feel that you shouldn’t even speak. I did not feel it until it was the time to speak in front of everyone. The moment when everyone is expecting you to say some words, and you just cannot find them. That’s what makes me want to run, and hide from everyone.

                  I am tired of sounding like an uneducated person in front of everyone. I hate the fact that I cannot express my self in English as well and as much as I can in Spanish. I feel like I am trapped. I do feel like I cannot express my self anymore. It is so frustrating.

                  Everyone says it is ''okay'' to struggle a little bit with another language. I am still getting used to this language, so I kind of understand my frustration. All I hope is that I can improve by the time, and speak as fluently, as fast, and as freely as I would like to.




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La Paz-24& Locust

Julian Makarechi

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La Paz

         Esto es el primer mural de mi vida creado para la comunidad de Filadelfia. Yo decidí ubicar ese fabuloso mural en 24 y Locust porque hay apenas colores aquí. Es un pequeño lugar donde todos pasan, pero es muy aburrido. Donde vivo es muy divertido; hay muchas personas que son simpáticas y gentiles. En cualquier momento puedes andar en la ciudad para hacer compras, (put 1 or 2 more examples) Por eso me gusta mi barrio tanto. Hay mucha historia en mi cuidad; hay la campana de libertad, Benjamin Franklin y la familia Rittenhouse. La mayoría de los habitantes en mi barrio son blancos y no son muy jóvenes.


        Yo pienso que cada mural tiene que haber un fondo, un imagen o persona, y una cita. Para el fondo, debo elegir un color que represente mi comunidad. Debo escoger una persona que es un figura significativa quien tiene valores. Y finalmente necesita una cita que tiene un mensaje importante para la comunidad. Yo decidí que mis colores de fundo serán azul, rojo y verde. Azul y rojo están muy simbólicos para la nación, y son patrióticos. Elegí el verde porque en mi comunidad, el reciclaje es muy importante. Los temas de mi mural son que todos deben admirar las personas que están muy valiente en su ciudad.‘GO GREEN’ también es un tema del mural. La cita que yo elegí es : “Piensa antes de hablar”. Eso es lo que todo el mundo debe hacer exactamente como hicieron todos las figuras significativas.


    Para mi, el papel del arte publico es que es una manera de expresar algo en tu barrio, con que no todos esta de acuerdo con. El propósito de los  murales es pros crear, etapas para reunir una comunidad en paz. Pienso que mi mural cumple el papel de arte publico, porque tiene todo los credenciales. Tiene el emoción y potencial por cambiar una cuidad. Mi mural es arte definitivamente, no es graffiti ni vandalismo. Se muestra que puedo expresar mi opinión y carácter en forma de arte. El arte es una manera de alejarse de cosas en tu vida y solamente tener diversión. Cada obra de arte cuenta una historia como mi mural. Yo pienso que mi mural es muy creativo con todos los colores diferentes. Eso mural tiene muy diversidad. Eso demuestra mi habilidades artísticos. La parte preferido de mi mural es el collage para la cita. Estoy orgulloso de mi mural.

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