A response to Erika Hasebe-Ludt’s article “How can life writing be an effective approach and teaching strategy with English Language Learners from mixed linguistic and racial/cultural backgrounds?”

This article can be found in:

James, K., Dobson, T., Leggo, C., eds. English in Middle and Secondary Classrooms: Creative and Critical Advice from Canada’s Teacher Educators. Toronto: Pearson, 2012.

Hasebe-Ludt’s article gave me the impetus to try to write in my other mother tongue, Indonesian. It has been awhile since I’ve had to write anything in this language, so I feel a bit rusty.

Sudah lama sejak It’s been a long time since

aku berbahasa; I last used my language;

rasanya bahasaku feels like my tongue

dan aku and I

sudah saling lupa; have forgotten one another;

tapi seperti teman lama, but like old friends,

waktu bertemu when we met

kita bisa saling berbagi we could share with each other

saling mengerti understand one another

dan selalu saling and always, one to the other,

memaafkan khilaf. forgive mistakes made.

Although this segment is not about life-writing, using the language of my Indonesian heritage challenges me to think in a wholly different way, both syntactically as well as lexically. Asking students to be creative could start from this point; just asking them to think in a different language could change their whole outlook, and influence their writing dramatically.

Whether or not a student speaks another language does not seem to be matter for life-writing; as Hasebe-Ludt puts it, “Life writing can heal the ground you tremble on and heart you hurt with, to restore and re-story our mixed – métis – common ground.”

In my grade 10 creative writing class, one of our prompts revolved around writing our pasts in progression with time. Our teacher ended up compiling the results into a booklet that I still have to this day. Here was my entry, dated 12/9/2005:

Past on Paper

First sheet blank and expectant

The brush sweeps over —

White walls, an emerald lawn, marigolds

Riot of joyous colour and loving strokes —

A little drop of red, nothing serious

And a whiff of damp leaves

Both more real than the colour,

Yet ever so faint in comparison.

Second sheet timid and anxious

The soft crayon strokes over —

A tiny garage, miniature porch, rabbits

Swirl of hues and blurred edges —

An ugly stain, right in the center

And the aroma of stale baking

Both more bitter than the image

And much clearer in comparison.

Third sheet hopeful and scared

The hard pencil scribbles over —

Bamboo trees, a swimming pool, a dark gate

Scratches of shades and confused composition —

A jagged tear across the page

Emanating sour chlorine

Both more hurtful than the dark shades;

Ever stronger in comparison.

Last sheet weary of waiting

The black marker smudges over —

Independent rooms, locked front door, dogs

Deliberate lines and realistic shapes —

Tape-protected edges

And the usual stench of sweat

Both just as normal as the drawing;

No comparison.