Whether it’s in school, at home, or at soccer practice, every kid wants to fit in. The thought of knowing that you are different than everyone else, as a child, is hard. I found myself being that kid. Growing up in Mississippi, I didn’t sound like anyone because my parents were from Iran.  They taught me English at home to make sure I spoke English properly rather than having an accent. I didn’t mind it until people starting pointing it out beginning in grade school.  

“Okaay classs. We’re goin ta foe-cus on thuh Alphabet.” said Mrs. Scholtes. “Say Ayyyy. This is the letter Ayyy.”

“Ayyyyy” said everyone in the class except me.

“Nikki hun, darlin’ you neeeeed to participate. Ya hear?” 

“But that’s not how you say it. My mom said it’s Ay. Not ayyyyyy.” 

To this day, I still don’t know how I got the courage to confront my teacher. 

“Okaay, well f-ah-ine. Can you saaay thuh l-eh-tter “baeeee””

“Do you mean “bee”? As in bumblebee?” I was on a roll.

“Yes baee as in bayyycan. You know whut! I’m tai-erd uhv yur smart mouthin. This iz thuh waay ta say thuh alphabet. Go dowwn ta thuh office little ma’am.” 

As I walked to the principal’s office I was confused on what I did.  Was I being sent down because I spoke proper English and that wasn’t what she was teaching? Or because the teacher realized her student’s phonics was better than her own? My parents and I settled for both reasons, but we didn’t tell my principal that, because she spoke the same way as Ms. Scholtes did. That long, slow, southern accent bothered me not because it wasn’t proper but because I didn’t speak that way.  My parents aren’t from Mississippi so they didn’t grow up with that accent around them and neither did I. I already stood out because I didn’t look like everyone else. My proper tone of English made it worse, so I just decided to fake it. 

It took a few days for me to come up with my master plan. I had made a decision. Recess. My classmates were playing indians and cowboys so my little mind thought this was a perfect time to interrupt and let them know that I, Nikki Adeli, was an average Mississipian. 

“I love tah go huntin! D’yall like tah go too?” 

Why are they looking at me like that? They’re catching on. Oh no. Play it off Nikki. 

“I’m gon tah church this Sunday, y’all gon too? Oo! Then ahhhh-fter, I’m gon to my meemaw’s home to get me some collard greens. Y’all down?”

“You’re an odd one darlin.” said my teacher my table buddy.

I remember at the time that making friends wasn’t my forte.  It wasn’t me, I swear! It was because I didn’t have light brown hair and blue or hazel eyes. I had dark brown hair and dark brown eyes...not a very usual sight for a person living in Mississippi. 

In the fifth grade, we were studying how people look different based of where they come from and their heritage. She held up cards with people from 4 different countries. China, Africa, Saudi Arabia, and America. She held up each card and the final card was China. She explained to the class that they didn’t speak like we did here in America.  Later that day at recess, the lesson was still plastered in the minds of my table mates. 

“Nikki, iz you an y’alls family frum Chiiiiina? 

“No? Why would I be from Chiiiiiiiina Blake? 

“Well ya don’t soun’ lyke mah freends or mah family an’ Ms. Oswalt said that people frum Chiiiiina don’t soun’ lyke us.”

“I’m not from China, Blake. I was born in the same hospital as you were right here in Starkville. Just my parents are from Iran.”

“Iz dat een Chiiiiiina?”

I didn’t really care what Blake thought about me since he wasn’t anything but a table buddy to me. But it was the limited amount of friends I had that I wanted to fit in with that mattered most.  

Years went by and I stayed close to my friends. I couldn’t believe it. Maybe faking a little didn’t hurt, I mean look! Now I have friends. Friends that I could invite to birthdays and friends that wouldn’t belittle me because of the way I spoke. Or so I thought. 

I was ready to open presents at my 11th birthday party. I was psyched! All my friends were around and nothing could go wrong! I fit in. 

“Baba!” I said to my father.  “Can you bring me my presents?”

“What’s a baba Nikki? Haha, that’s so silly and weird,” said my friend Flannery.

“Oh yeah totally! Silly me! Daddddyyyy! Dad!”

My dad stared me down and laughed. I don’t know if it was my wide eyes that signaled for him to play along or my flushed cheeks that showed how embarrassed I was. Whatever it was, he played along. Until it was time to cut my cake. He personally brought out my cake, placed it in front of me, looked at me and said “here ya go darlin’” in the strongest country accent he could force out of his voice box. I smiled and listened to everyone sing “Happy Birthday” off key and blew out my candles. I slowly heard it creep out of the side of my ear. 

“Tavalod! Tavalod! Tavalodet mobarak!” screamed my family. 

They began to sing “Happy Birthday” in Farsi. My friends started whispering. My cheeks were red once again. But this time it wasn’t out of embarrassment. It was out of joy. In the story “Tongue-Tied” by Maxine Hing Kingstan, she mentioned in her story that “A telephone call makes my throat bleed and takes up that day’s courage.” When my grandparents from Iran call me, I’m always terrified to speak. Not that I’m not confident in the way I speak, it’s just that until the day of my birthday, I had placed this facade over my face that I would take off and put on whenever I felt like it.  At this point, I was confused to who I was. Had this mask become my identity? No. I wouldn’t let it become who I was. I would not let others’ opinions define who I was. 

From that day forward, I learned to embrace my inner awesomeness. This awesomeness of mine came from centuries of Ancient Persian history to the day I was born at the Oktibbeha County Hospital in Starkville, Mississippi. I was different, and this was something I never wanted to accept.  But what did it mean to be the same as everyone else? I don’t want a southern accent. Well besides for basic humor. I don’t want to be the same. I like the way my voice portrays who I am. It took me a long time and a move up north to realize this. In Philadelphia, no one pointed my out for being different. There was no different. There was no normal. Everyone varied. I no longer had to fake a voice to sit with table buddy at lunch. I no longer had to pretend that shooting animals was a hobby of mine. I could embrace who I really was and push my voice to new heights without having to worry about other people and what they would say about me.  I finally fit in. 

Emmanuel Kouadio

A Band, English

1/6/13

What Language Do You Speak ?

Many people have always asked me, why is me voice so light, or why do I talk strange. Well, at times I speak differently than others would usually speak. When I was in third grade I got into an accident involving my the insides of my mouth, which lead to me having to getting surgery done. After that my whole life would change from their. I would have problems pronouncing some of the hard sounding verbs that has two through three syllables and I received a different accent then the one I had before.

 “Dalfin (dolphin), eyerin (iron), elementree (elementary) and woofle (waffle)”  

My speech/ accent was effecting me mostly when reading, since my voice had got lighter. When I was in forth grade I wanted to write poetry, so my teacher Ms. Buchanan entered me in the Delaware County Young Poets Competition. I thought that I wouldn’t be able to place in the competition because the way I would talk or read. Until one day in school my teacher had an idea and decided that all the kids in my class were going to write poems.

“Emmanuel I would like to speak to you after class, involving your poem” said Ms. Buchanan.

“Ok I won’t forget” I said. 

It was the final class of the day and the bells rung. 

“Ring, Ring, Ring, Ring, Ring, Ring”, the bell stopped ringing.

The kids in my classroom were packing up to go home.

“Everyone enjoy your weekend and work on your poems, so we can read them in class on Monday.” in a cheerful tone “Don’t forget to be creative and to put on your thinking caps when writing.” said Ms. Buchanan.

As all the kids exited the classroom I walked up to my teacher in a curious way. I thought to myself. What would she want to speak to me about?

“Emmanuel”, Ms. Buchanan voice shortly paused “I noticed that you and a couple other kids in your class have very special talents. I think you could win this competition if you put a lot of time and effort into it.”

At first I was shocked what I was hearing, then she began to speak about how I would win. I had faith in myself, but for some reason I was more fortunate to win she said. I was thinking that even if I didn’t finish in first place that I would like to win something.

“I want you to go home and work on you poem. Relate it to things around you, so when you’re going home everything you see you can include it in your poem”, said Ms. Buchanan. 

“That is a very good idea for me to start my poem, but I’ll just see you on Monday. I have to leave my friends are waiting for me outside”, I replied in a quickly tone.

“Have a good weekend”, we both said as we exchanged goodbye’s.

As I was on my way home walking down Ruskin Lane I was thinking about what I would see that would give me ideas on what to include in my poem. Today was the first day of spring, so many things grew since winter was over. I took out a book noted everything down I saw and went home. I took out my book of ideas and started to brainstorm stanzas for my poem.

“Spring is here. Whats in the air ? Birds are flying far and near”, I said.

After writing the first line of my poem I had other ideas, but I just couldn’t focus. When I read it to myself it wouldn’t sound right, so later on I continued to work on the poem. For a while I would continue to channel all of my ideas on the paper, but it wouldn’t sound like me. 

“Would I say something like this”, as I thought to myself.

I paused for a brief second to get help from my mom, but she had went to the supermarket to get some groceries for dinner. I was helpless for a second, until I decided to call my teacher Ms. Buchanan. I called her, but it went straight to voicemail, meaning she was probably very busy. 

“You’ve reached the voicemail of Karen Buchanan. Sorry I am not available to answer your call at this certain time, but please leave a message and I will surely get back with you. God bless you and have a nice day.”

I left a short message containing my poem and hung up the phone.

(It’s early Monday morning and school has began. 8:00 and the kids start to enter the school and goto their classes after eating a healthy breakfast. The teachers awaits them at the door with a friendly greeting)

“Welcome to class kids. If you can remember we read example poems and essays about the different types of languages people occur to have.”, said Ms. Buchanan. “I’d like you all to relate  your language  to one of the stories that you read. You have the full period to work.

I started writing about my relationship to a story I read. I still had thoughts of the Delaware County Young Poets Competition stuck in my head. With only one more day to it began. As I began the class writing assignment I started putting all my brainstorms together.

“Out of four stories that I read in English class I can relate myself to the story Hunger of Memory by Richard Rodriguez. The main character Richard had issues with adjusting to his language. Most of his life he learned words while pronouncing the wrong sound. He would be used to speaking in two languages, at home Spanish and at school English. He would basically code switch in different environments since his parents spoke mainly Spanish. A way I can relate to Rodriguez is after I had surgery done I too had issues with speaking properly. We both have minor accents, have pronunciation problems, but we are also fixing that problem.” I wrote.

After that I felt relieved for some apparent reason. I had a special felling that I could relate to someone else rather about language difficulties, than be laughed at or questioned. 

It was the next day. An early Tuesday morning. It was time for the Delaware County Young Poets Competition to finally begin. Emmanuel still had school, but he was excused from three class periods.  

After the final contestants recited their poems it was my time to present mines. Walking down the isle to a big stage to present in front of a crowd over 300 people wouldn’t be easy.

“Introduce yourself and you may began reading now”, one judge said.

“My . . name is Emmanuel Kouadio. I am a third grader who attends Stonehurst Hills Elementary school.

I began to read my poem, as the audience watching me listened and lowered their tones.

“Spring is here. Whats in the air ? 

Birds are flying far and near. 

The insects are soaring, as the mowers are mowing.

I goto school and explore. 

Learn new things more and more.

After learning, then we play.

That is why I love spring everyday.”

The crowd applauded and I went to go set next to my teacher. After five minutes of discussions the judges came to an agreement on who the winners were.

“In first place. . . John Reynolds from Bywood Elementary” said one judge.

“In second place. . . Lisa Vincent from Westbrook Park Elementary” said another judge.

“Last, but not least third place goes to. . . Emmanuel Kouadio from Stonehurst Hills Elementary” said by the last judge.

At that moment I felt so confident to hear my name be called and people cheer me on. My poem wasn’t that bad, the judges understood me when I spoke, and I represented my school by winning. That was one of the best memories having to do with my language involving speech/ the way I talk. From that day on I promised to always have  confidence in my own area of language arts and try.

-The End

Apologize for the inconvenience, but Vimeo couldn't cooperate with me. I provided three other school approvable websites where you can watch my video. Enjoy and please leave feedback. Thanks.

Youtube:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UZVvHgL74ik&feature=youtu.be

Dropbox:

https://www.dropbox.com/s/qwawtygp3fa74rw/English%20BM2%20-%20Medium.m4v

Immediate Download:

file:///Users/ekouadio/Desktop/English%20BM2%20-%20Medium.m4v.zip

​ My language affect my past, present and future, Speaking spanish with an accent and speaking spanish differently than other people around you, Its like speaking spanish with a spanish person,and your sounds like another language and then their face looks puzzled . It was an early morning in Mexico, I was visiting my grandparents for the summer, like everyday I always woke up next to my sister, and a spider on her back.


“AHHHH!” i screamed.
“Que pasa ?” My grandma said. 
“Una..una..” i said forgetting how to say spider in spanish. 
so i point to the spider. 
“Una araña ?” she said. 
“Mhmm” i say, remembering. 
“Aver de araña” she says. 
“Araya” with a face of scared i said it wrong.
“Ajaja” she starts to laugh. 
“Asi no se dice” she responds. 
“Oh...” in a face of disappointment. 


Speaking spanish for me is difficult, I spoke so much english growing up and in school that when I go to Mexico, or go home, or even when I am with friend that speak my language and speak spanish it sounds like I have an accent. My family and friends have told me that I sound like an American trying to speak spanish. I couldn’t say some words like other spanish speaking people, I would sound weird saying the words, and when I did speak spanish, I would have someone laughing at me. My spanish speaking friends would expect me to talk spanish all the time like they do because I come from a Mexican family, but I cant speak spanish all the time, because of my accent in spanish. My family would expect me to speak spanish well because when I was little I use to speak spanish all the time and my parents are from Mexico, but growing up I start to speak english more and spanish less, or I would mix my spanish with my english. I started to get gain an accent with my spanish, it would sound like a spanish word mixed with english. I got made fun of with my family, and it was kinda funny, but then again that made me feel not confident with me speaking spanish, so now that I am in spanish class, I don’t like to speak spanish because I am scared to say a word and say it with my accent I have, I just wont speak. I would only say some words I know how to say them clearly, with the accents but sometimes my accent will slip out. This will affect my future because I would be shy to speak my second language because of the accent I have when I speak spanish. As well where I got the nickname “blanca”  because my friends say I a “wanna be white” because I wont speak spanish around them because of my spanish accent and afraid to get made fun of because on how I speak spanish.
Most people would think, “oh she is embarrassed of her culture and her language” but thats because they don’t know what is really going on. I am happy being Mexican. I am fine speaking spanish but if only I could speak it with out the accent. It sometimes brings people to hate me, because people think I don’t want to speak spanish and I am embarrassed. I would only speak some sentences that I know my accent won’t come out. 
As this quote says “The range (and reign) of accents on that damp little island make England coherent for the English and totally incomprehensible for everyone else. To open your mouth in England is (if I may use black English) to "put your business in the street": You have confessed your parents, your youth, your school, your salary, your self-esteem, and, alas, your future.”  the day I opened my mouth and spoke spanish to my grandmother and she saw that I had an accent in my spanish she knew what would happen, as well as my friends when I spoke spanish to them, they called me “blanca” why ? because I would speak spanish with an english accent and everyone knew what would happen, I would be shy to speak my own language and speak it to them, because how I speak my spanish. 
My spanish accent started with me hanging with my best friend Alexis, I was with her so much that I started to talk like her, then I started to realized when I spoke spanish I sound different than others, I felt sad because I felt like when I spoke spanish to others, they would just look at me like “what kind of spanish are you speaking” so I just talk to my spanish friends in english. As the statement says, they will tell my future because now I am not confident with myself speaking spanish, and when I am older, I wont be feeling any better about my spanish. What makes me sad about me speaking spanish with an accent is that every time I say a long sentences and my accent would come out, my family, and friends look at me in a strange way, that makes me sad because they look at me different. Sometimes I think, maybe if I speak spanish a lot, they will get use to it, or my spanish will get better after a while, but sometimes I am just not ready to speak spanish fully with other people. When the quote says “sland make England coherent for the English and totally incomprehensible for everyone else. To open your mouth in England is (if I may use black English) to "put your business in the street"  It does feel like I am putting my business out there because to me my I don’t speak spanish for a reason outside my house because I feel like if I do I am telling everybody that I can’t speak spanish with out an english accent, well Wendy thats me, plus spanish my language equal oops, why? because I make a lot of mistakes when i speak spanish. 

Never Giving up the Lisp 

It all started when I was in grade school on the yellow school bus.  

“What’s your name”, 

“Piercesuss” I reply. Immediately I get funny faces from whomever I’m talking too. 

“Why do you talk like that?” 

“Do you have a speech impediment?” 

Speech impediment? I think to myself what’s that. To me the way I sounded was always normal but apparently it wasn’t. I was being criticized for my so called “speech impediment” that I didn’t even know about. 

“What are you talking about”, 

“I don’t have a shhpeech impediment.”

“Yes you do! , you have a lisp!”

 It has a name, my so called speech impediment has a name, now I will be labeled as the boy with the the lisp.-- I’ve always had problems with kids with their teasing. They would get me to try say words or they would mock me, “Say twizzlers or snake”. I didn’t really care what people would think so I would humor them and repeats the words. “Twishulers” and without even trying there was a lot of miss pronunciation in the word and I sounded kind of ridiculous.Yeah I can admit it, this was the first actual time I felt insecure about my accent but in a way I thought it made me different.   As I talked more using new vocabulary as I grew my lisp seemed to get worst. No one would try to get me to mock things anymore because they got use to me. I still had a heavy lisp which would really be a disturbance to me when I was trying pronounce new words in English class. I felt like my lisp was my enemy when it came to just that class. I almost felt normal in other classes but in that class, I felt like it attacked me.

 “Hello Class, we have new vocabulary for the week, please repeat after me.” 

“Say parenthesis!” As I am in the back of the room I slowly try to pronounce this word.

“Paren, Parentheties, Pa, Pa!” 

“Ughh” 

My lisp was making this new word way too difficult.

I couldn't even pronounce this word I just mumbled in the back of class. My lisp was so bad that I would me get tongue tied on words that still to this day hold a challenge. 

“Say Surfeit” , I didn’t want to be that kid who mumbled in the back of the class, I wanted to be that kid who stood out, so out of know where I got a sudden urge of confidence I blurted out loud “Shhurfeit”. I immediately knew that all eyes were on me and I just put my head down from embarrassment. But later on as I thought about what happened, I shouldn’t of been embarrassed I should of been proud of me giving it a try.

    As the years past I became more comfortable with my lisp and what people had to say about it. I use to not talk at all in class even if I knew the answers because of how I sounded to others. But now I have no problem of raising my hand. Other students in my middle school would still try to get me to repeat words. I actually looked forward to this because I became comfortable enough with my lisp to laugh about it. As long as people didn’t go overboard with mocking then I essentially had no problems. 

    All my life I’ve felt the most accepted in the comfort of my home. My parents and Siblings never brought me through torment that I experienced through school. Didn’t they hear my lisp? Is it really not that noticeable or are they just ignoring it because I’m family? 

     As a young child growing up on the rough streets of West Oak Lane, you had to make sure you could defend yourself. I don’t mean a physical defense either but I’m talking about a verbal defense. Back when I was really committed to basketball, I would be at the park playing a game of Basketball and as always on the Simons community court there would always be a problem. It might be the littlest problem from arguing about untied shoelaces to a hard foul. If you got into one of these arguments you would have to have smart, smerky, offensive remarks using curse words with a solid firm voice that I just didn’t have. If you came into one of these arguments with good comebacks but a light lispy voice like mines then you would surely be ridiculed by the other people at the park every time you went there. I would always try to avoid conflict and if I did get into one of these arguments I would put on a sort of facade to make me seem tougher. I had to talk slow and clear to get my point across.

Random person “ You ugly as shit youngin”

Me “You are just mad because I beat you in ball. You ain't nothing but a noodle.” As I said with a slow strict and firm non lispy voice.

This was the only time where my lisp wasn’t my enemy and thank god for it because if I had a strong lisp during these arguments I would have surely been embarrassed off the courts. 

   In the essay “If Black English Isn’t a Language, Then Tell Me, What Is?”, by James Boldwin, Boldwin talks about how language is a powerful influence. Stated in the essay it says “ It goes without saying, then that language is also a political instrument, means and proof of power.” Language can be used as an instrument or tool by the way you use and compose it. The way you sound and how you talk can make an influence on people, so if you talk with a deep slow clear voice thats the first impression you give off to people. 

   Through my life language and speech has had an impact on my life as well as others. It’s affected me through school and socially with my peers. I’ve learned to not blame or ridicule myself for something that defines who I am. Know I am proud to be known as the boy with the Lisp. 

What kind of language do you speak? Have you ever met someone who speak dialect? I do have this experience and can’t forget it until today.

Although Mandarin is the official language in China, there are also a lot of different dialects. Sometimes for people in different parts of China, it is hard to understand each other by oral languages though the written languages are similar. My families and I live in the Northern China which is close to Beijing, and we have some relatives in Guangdong Province which is in the Southern China and close to Hong Kong. I decided to visit my relatives during the summer vacation two years ago because my parents were busy. I told my parents about this idea, and they supported me. I was afraid that there might be some troubles in communication so I sent an e-mail to them. They replied to me at once and I could understand it. Therefore, I wasn’t worried anymore and went on my trip delightfully. But I found out I was wrong when I met them. 

I greeted with them at first, “你们好!”(Hello!) They showed a strange emotion, and I guessed they didn’t know what I was talking. But I believed that they greeted me, too. It sounded like “Niehoe!” Then, I said, “好长时间没见到你们了。”(I haven’t seen you guys for a long time.) I didn’t know what they were talking about, but they said something like “Hoegorxigandoeni”. I felt embarrassed and didn’t know what I should do next. They also found out that we couldn’t understand each other at all, and one of them who is my uncle pointed at a building. I understood that they wanted me to go to their house with them, and we walked together.

Then, I knew that they spoke Cantonese which is a southern dialect in China! I felt that I was an outsider although they were friendly to me because we always failed to communicate with each other. Since we couldn’t understand each other by speaking, if I needed something, I had to write it down on paper and give it to them. I was like a mute while I was living in their home. According to my plan, I would spend my whole summer vacation there. But I couldn’t stand life like this and returned home after a week. This is a failed trip, but it let me understand more about language. 

You might ask why there are a lot of dialects in China. As you know, Chinese history is long and complicated. There were seven kingdoms in China during the Warring States Period, and it lasted about two hundred years. If the people in one place couldn’t communicate with the people living in somewhere else, they had to form their own language or dialect. People in each kingdom had their own oral language and written language, but it was hard to communicate between different kingdoms. After the king of one kingdom called Ying Zheng united the other six kingdoms and established Qin Dynasty, he realized this problem and stipulated a unified written language, but he had no idea about unifying the oral language. Although he was the emperor and had the strongest power in the whole country, he didn’t have the power to change the way which people spoke. The oral language can’t be limited and unified because it is a kind of habit which can’t be decided by a certain person. In Han Dynasty, a foreign nation called Xiongnu which is next to the northern China communicated with China frequently during the whole period. So, the oral language of northern China was influenced by Xiongnu inevitably. After Han Dynasty, there were a lot of foreign nations communicating with the Han nationality which is the main nation in China, and this influenced the language in China, too. In Qing Dynasty, a nation called Manchu united China, and their tone influenced oral Chinese in the northern China so Mandarin was formed. After People’s Republic of China was established, Chinese government popularized Mandarin. But people who lived in Guangdong Province in the Southern China were used to using Cantonese, and Cantonese had already become a part of their culture. They didn’t want to change the way which they spoke, so they continued to use Cantonese till today. Dialect is connected with history. Dialect is a tool for communication and a kind of habit, and the reason of formation of a dialect is complicated. Wars can help form a dialect, because the tone of soldiers might be influenced by their enemies. Conquests can help form a dialect, because the conquerors might force the slaves to accept their languages, and the tone of slaves might be different from the conquerors so that a new dialect is formed. Also, trades can help form a dialect. If a person wants to deal with another person who speaks another language, he/she must communicate with the person, and their tone of speaking their own language would be influenced by each other.

There is also a dialect in the United States called black English. In the article If Black English Isn’t a language, Then Tell Me, What Is by James Baldwin, the author says that black english is a language, and it influences white english and culture. It introduces the reason of formation of black english. “Subsequently, the slave was given, under the eye, and the gun, of his master, Congo Square, and the Bible--or in other words, and under these conditions, the slave began the formation of the black church, and it is within this unprecedented tabernacle that black English began to be formed.” Black english is a kind of language which was spoken by black people in the United States. The reason of its formation also connects to history. Blacks were ruled by whites before the American Civil War, and they couldn’t communicate at all because they came from different tribes and used different languages. They wanted to find a way to communicate with each other, so black english appeared.

The reason of formation of dialects connects to history. It might be wars, conquests, trades, etc. Dialect is a way to communicate with each other in a certain area, and it is formed since it is chosen by history. Since this is the historical trend, no one can change it and that’s not necessary.

Will Amari

1/3/13

Silver

Wordz.

During the murky early mornings I am a man of very few words. My thoughts are focused on my dreams which I miss intensely the instant I wake. My eyes are towards the ceiling, and my back lays flat on the cushion of my nice soft warm bed. The darkness is a clown which fools with my mind. He bends the fine line between what’s real and what’s only fantasy. Which is why I lay silent trying to figure out the clear difference. 

“WILL!” That’s my father yelling from downstairs. I’m still in my dream phase thinking about women and riches. I flop over sideways facing my bedroom door and try to respond to him with a happy hearty “Good morning,” but before I can, my true feelings break loose, and I respond by saying a depressing, miserable, “MmmmWha?” 

“Oh.” He says surprisingly. There is a short pause, then he continues, “I think it’s time you start thinking about getting up.”

“Mnnn Kay— one minute.” I fall out of bed and quickly get dressed, walk my dog, eat breakfast, brush my teeth, pack my bag, and then I go to school. It all feels like one movement.

In the classroom I am a mouse, even though I’m totally there, I’m quiet and I speak with my eyes. Sometimes words are as meaningless as a Thrush who cannot sing. However, sometimes, if the right words are used by the right person, they can save a life. In the end, some words are beautiful works of art, like the pieces that are admired in museums and some words are stupid and are only meant to be used for The Mindless Small Talk of everyday life. 

“Sup Will.” Someone says.

“Sup man.” I say plainly, and with a sarcastic crescent-shaped smile glued on my face, I shake their hand. That to me is as low as it gets, the words I use for small talk have no personality or charisma. They’re boring and dimwitted, and there is no art or true beauty to them. There’s just that sort of, “I say this, you say this feeling”, you get when your talking to someone you don’t know and or care about. I feel like a social robot, until I get to lunch. 

At lunch, with my friends, I am Out Going, I am Free Spirited, and I am Happy— which is not a word I use often. Do I speak out art? I don’t know, but its eccentric and natural and my words mirror my personality— and that’s all that matters. 

“Will.” Tom says to me.

“Tom.” I reply. 

“Amari.”

“Sawyer.” I joke.

Tom throws a fake punch at my face. And I pretend to get hit in the eye, and start to grow fake tears while crying out a fake sob. 

Then someone says, “Yo. Guys we should definitely go bowling.” 

“I know, we really should.”

“Whites versus Asians again?”

“Hell yah bitch.”

“Were gonna kick your asses back to Viet-Nam.”

“Oh my god. You guys are so messed up.”

“You’re the one who can’t say one sentence without saying the word fuck.”

“Fuck you.”

“He looks like Hitler.”

“Lamborghini Muci Damn deez chicks are thirsty...”

“Shut the hell up.”

“Wait hold on I like that.”

“You see me rollin...”

“Oh my god. Will. Play that country music you like.”

“Its not country. Its folk man. Bob Dylan. See country is like yeee-haaawww grab your partner round ‘n’ round. Folk is expressive and sad like blowin’ in the wind and stuff. I like folk a lot better cause it’s like real poetry made into song.” There is a brief moment of silence. “Plus its fun to play on my guitar.” 

The conversations I have with my friends are valuable because they are so natural. The words from my mind, spill out of my lips, like the water that runs out my faucet. It’s a time where my words reveal the most of myself and the mouse in me becomes a lion. I am my own jungle. I roar instead of squeak. I swear instead of shake and I am not alone. 

I’m alone on my way home, I’m a shadow, and although I am happy, I am not me. As I walk through familiar streets and smell the familiar smells and hear the familiar sounds, my shadow grows. By the time I get to my door— no, by the time I get to my street, I grow my flesh and bones. I walk into my house, fully skinned and fully clothed. What you see of me is enough for you to know— I’m there. Dragging along my book bag, I parade up the stairs, and walk into the living room. There sitting on the couch is my mother. I am not a lion but I am also not a mouse. At this point, I don’t know what I am. However, I know what I follow. I follow a behavior and manner owned and invented by the house I live in and the roof I live under. I ask questions, instead of answering. I don’t declare or claim anything. I am innocent and ignorant. 

“Sup mom.” I said. “What’s for dinner?” I asked. 

“Well. Why don’t you look on the counter and find out for yourself.”

“Oh yah.” I turn around and...

“But wait, tell me about your day.” Demands my mother. 

I answer her in a few words more than one. I speak, but like the robot I am before lunch, I do not tell. I follow the rules and act as I am supposed to. The world inside the tower which I live in revolves around a small round table. Together we call it the dinning room. We sit and eat and speak and drink. 

“I got a eighty five on my spanish test.” 

“Thats good.” My mother admitted. “How are you doing on all your other subjects?”

“Pretty good.” I reply.

“Yah, you keeping up on all your assignments?”

“Yes.” I say emotionless and calmly. I finish up my meal and head up to my room. 

All through the night, until early in the morning, I’m alone in my room. Once again I am speaking, but not through my eyes or mouth, but within the inner roots of my body. I speak with my heart, soul and mind. These words, they are different than the ones that I say out loud and to me and me only— they are truly beautiful, a masterpiece made out of letters and vowels. Art. These words come from a big bright cabinet located in my dark dreary mind. These words, which I ponder all day keep me occupied and I become excited. These words have personality, style and grace. My heart is finally speaking and my soul is finally free from the tower I am forced to live in. There is no better way to use these words, so why use them at all. Words that are said out loud aren't special, they are wasted, wasted on something that is soon to be nothing. Nothing more than a memory, not worth being memorized. 

The words that are meant to be memorized have a true meaning that shows who you really are. Not as a human, but as a individual. Its poetry, art, truly beautiful, Bob Dylan and blowin’ in the wind, eccentric, natural, or whatever you want to call it, it doesn’t really matter, as long they reveal your true self.

“It is the most vivid and crucial key to identify. It reveals the private identity, and connects one with, or divorces one from, the larger, public, or communal identity.” James Baldwin typed that.

“My words depend on my personality, my personality depends on my attitude, my attitude depends on who’s at the door. For I speak out my own creation and my creation is nothing more.” I typed that.  

Dropbox: 

https://www.dropbox.com/lightbox/home/Drop%20Box/English2?select=Wordz-The%20Movie.flv