Language Autobiography. ;]

     “A different language is a different vision of life.”-Federico Fellini. Each ethnicity has a different accent. Whether if it’s country, southern, ghetto, and more. It’s different and it makes them who they are today. I personally think that dialect shouldn’t matter. It makes us all unique in their own little way. Wouldn’t the world be boring if everyone spoke the same way in the same tone? Things wouldn’t be interesting. Does it really matter how people talk? Why can’t we live in a world without being judged?
     I was born in Thailand, but I AM NOT Thai. I am half Vietnamese and half Chinese. When I was younger, my mom raised me. All we spoke was Vietnamese. I would understand what my mom tell me because she would repeat different words often so that I can understand and know what it means. My mom also taught me a little bit of English. We would watch N’Sync, Michael Jackson, and many more famous singers in the 2000’s. I would learn my English from singing to their songs. My mom was not fluent in English. Whenever she talks, she would have a high pitch note in her words. That’s what I notice about Asian people. When it’s not their language, their tone of voice tends to change. I don’t know whether if it’s just my race or others also. As I grew up, I moved to United States. I lived with my dad for a couple of years. He knew how to speak English, but he has grammar problems. “Dad, I’m home.” “Oh, come in kitchen to eat.” That was how he talked to me every single day in English. It was a breezy day. The sun was shining through the big white clouds. My dad and I were heading to his friend’s house. When I got there, I didn’t know whom the guy was so I was quiet when I met him. I sat down and observe his house. It was very messy. There were beers and clothes everywhere. The guy was African American. “Yo man, what’s up?” “Hi, nothing really you?” “Man, yo, I’ve been, you know, doing me. Feel me?” “Yeah, I know what you mean dawg.” “Word. I feel you, man, how’s life?” “It good.” After years living with my dad, I got used to how he talked in English and understood everything he was trying to say. That’s the funny part. Not a lot of people would understand him. I would usually have to translate for them. Every time I hear my dad talk, it reminds me of my mom. Her grammar would be all over the place. It wouldn’t make any sense.
     From age 1-9, I grew up around Asian people. That was my life. It was all about Asian culture, food, language, etc. But, when I was 10 years old, I became a foster child. I started to live with a Puerto Rican family. They were my babysitters at first, but after the incident that my dad and I had, they took custody of me. My mom wasn’t in United States at the time so they were the only people I had left. It was a big family. The mom’s name is Debbie and the dad’s name is Alex. They had 3 kids. The oldest was Allie, the middle child was Isaiah, and the youngest one was Jacob. It was a little bit rough moving in with a new family. I didn’t now any Spanish. I knew a little bit of English at the time but I wasn’t as fluent. There were some tensions between the kids and I because they felt as though I was trying to take their parents away from them. As the days past buy, I begin to learn the basic Spanish words and eat Spanish food. It was a huge change, but I adapt to it really quick. One of the main things that changed when I started to live with them was my accent. I didn’t have that squeaky voice anymore; I had a New York accent. They were New Yorkers so their accent rubbed off on me. When you’re around certain people for so long, you begin to do the same things as them without knowing it. And that’s what happened with me. “Que haces” said Aliie.  “Nada really. Just here chillen, how about you?” “Same here, it’s o.dee boring at my crib. Nada to do.” “Aw that sucks o.dee pero at least you have your brothers. I don’t have anyone in my crib.” “Oh yeah? True. Pero I’m madd bored.” “Tambien, pero I’’ see you this weekend.” Allie and I would talk Spanish and English at the same time. The differences between Spanish and Asian people is that when asian people talk, they would have grammar problems and their tone of voice would change, but with Spanish people, they’re have a certain accent and speak “spanglish” all the time.
     Just like the story “Mother Tongue,” Amy’s mom had the same problem as my mom. They both have broken English. Amy was ashamed of her mom’s English and so am I. I would have to translate for my mom all the time. When it comes down to calling a company and talking to the representative, I have to be the one. It gets annoying at times because I don’t feel like doing it. Not only that, but my mom and I will get into an argument because she feels as though that I don’t understand what SHE’S trying to say and I feel like she doesn’t understand what I’M to say to her. So there’s definitely a conflict between my culture’s language and English.
     Nowadays, most people think I’m Puerto Rican because the way I talk, walk, dress, and most of my music is Spanish. I still have that Asian look and whatnot, but I don’t really do anything that my culture does. Now that I live with my mom, I eat Vietnamese food everyday except holidays. I would go to the Spanish family and eat Spanish food. I’m part of both cultures even though I like the Spanish food and culture better. I’m not ashamed of it at all. It’s just how I am. When you adapt to something and you live that life for a long time, it doesn’t go away. I do like my culture and I have no problem with it; I just prefer being Spanish. There’s no specific reason on why I adapt to a certain culture than my own. It just happens. I find it amazing and I want to learn more about it. Language and culture can definitely influence a lot on a person, but at the end of the day, it makes a person who they are today. Does it really matter how I talk or walk? We’re all different people and we’re unique in our own way. As long as you understand what I’m trying to say, then that’s all that matters.

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