sammy's language autobiography

Sammy. Zeisloft

12. 13. 10

Iron stream

            Everyone has a different way of speaking. Whether it’s the way that they pronounce words, a certain rhythm in which they speak, or the amount of slang terms they put into one sentence. Each person creates in their mind their own individual sort of linguistics; and from one persons mind, to the ears of another, through a call to your friend, or an email to a pen pal across the world; language spreads like wild fire from one friend to another or from one man, unto an entire nation. Although it goes without saying that even in a world of such high population and different ethnic groups, language is probably the most diverse thing that can both define a person and set them apart from a group of people. Language can also bring people together…or people can come together and create their own language.

            My friends and I have developed our own language over the years, a code per say, which any outsider attempting to listen into our conversation would be baffled by. We speak in foreign tongues I suppose but nothing like a dialect you would learn about in an English class or read about in a textbook. We speak in codes of serious tones, which throw off the passer bys as our lungs boil up with a comical explosion, which soon erupts through our lips as outbursts of laughter. We speak of funny or outrageous things in more quiet, serious, monotone voices, which then spark the reaction of laughter to those around us. I guess you could say that by our lack of expression or any obvious intentions to appear as comical stand bys, we’ve already planned out the reaction of our crowd, the ones that stand around us. It may seem like we aren’t trying to be funny, but we know that we can count on your laughter as the fuel for our next sentence that we spit from top of our minds, off the top of our heads.

            Amanda sat slouching in an upward position against the table in the café. She had an expression on her face that screamed more negative drama. I quickly signed in with my school I.D and went to see what was wrong. She saw me approaching and got a slight shift in her facial expression, but she was a terrible actress, because I saw right through her sad attempt to paste a smile on top of her tear stained face. I put my schoolbag down on the floor and immediately gave her a hug. “What’s wrong baybay?” I asked in a light tone. “Nothing” she said in a groan. She pulled away from the hug, I cupped her face in my hands “You a terrible liar dumby, I’ll ask again, what’s wrong?” Dumby was a name we would call each other, which later defined itself as a term of friendship or endearment. “Nothing stupid, you so dumb I was only lookin sad to get a hug from your pretty face”. I stared at her for a minute, and she stared right back with those big brown puppy dog eyes. She was beginning to lighten up and then we both burst into laughter.

There was something about our secret little language that always made one another feel better some how, like we felt understood or maybe it was just the fact that we had each other to laugh with when times like these got us down, but either way, our little system we had, was fail proof. “ I love you dumb dumb” I said to her and I wrapped my arms around her like a blanket of comfort, because although I had gotten a smile from her, I knew her problems weren’t solved. “ I love you too baby” she said in her normal calm tone. We sat there in our warm embrace as she told me of the things she was going though, like stupid arguments with her boyfriend and other teen queen dramatics that everyone had gone through, was going through or would eventually have to face in the mere future. When the bell finally rang and the school officer yelled that it was time for first period, we picked up our bags and went to our first classes. Our conversation hadn't been over yet but I guess you could say that we momentarily paused it due to the inconvenience of our separate classes. We went our different ways but our special little language seemed to keep us close no matter the distance.

People everyday stray from what we may call “proper English” whether they mean to or not. For some reason we feel that saying things in our own individual tongues will make our voices more different or heard; and it does, to certain people on the outside looking in. But to those who speak your tongues, it seems like nothing out of the ordinary, or possibly, it makes you feel all the more extraordinary knowing that you and a group of people share something that others may not know or understand. Language is not defined by the accent you have or the way you roll your tongue on certain letters, its something deeper and more complex, its about being able to speak differently to the people around you, and have them completely understand what you mean.