Lozada–Oliva’s poem reminded me of my experience with my first language. For context, my family moved to Canada when I was 3 and my first language was Slovak. I eventually stopped speaking it at home (most likely when I was around 8-9 years old) and I am now no longer able to speak it.
If I were to try to speak it, my first language would be grasping for words that would never come. They simply don’t come to mind. Even if I knew the right words, I wouldn’t know where to begin when it comes to putting them in order or conjugating verbs. I’d be reaching out for knowledge that seemingly doesn’t exist. Even the most simple sentences seem impossible to say. I’d be able to say more in languages that I’ve actively tried to learn and/or have taken classes in.
But if I were to hear it, I would understand a decent amount. And if the grammar was very off, there’s a decent chance I might notice. The knowledge that seemingly doesn’t exist, in some ways, actually does. To me, it is not a language that I see/hear in the media, in writing, or from anyone outside of my family. To me, it is little memories and fragments rather than a way of communicating.
Your final paragraph brings an interesting new perspective to the concept of one’s language(s)… I think we all tend to associate language with speaking, but there are many other skills involved, and your observations about listening and intelligibility show that one can “have” a listening language even if they don’t have easy access to a spoken one. Your reflections also made me revisit the poem to attend to other types of language, such as cultural and familial languages, and those are absolutely present for Lozada-Oliva (and I imagine perhaps for you and your classmates that have reflected on their parents’ mother tongues in the blog). Really beautiful reflections, Sarah. Thanks for sharing!
I find it so interesting how our brain understands and learns languages. I learnt both Spanish and English at home when I was a kid, so grammar and sentence structure came to me naturally from listening and speaking it. I probably learned some rules at school, but only when I was very young. I now find it difficult when friends of mine are learning Spanish, for example, and want to know a certain rule of why a word is used instead of another. Most of the time my answers to any grammatical question are that I “just know” and can’t really help them out.
I’ve also noticed how many people who might not speak their native language all the time understand how the language works, but get stuck trying to express themselves to others. There’s a reaction that our brain has but it’s hard to fulfill it. Now living away from home for a few years, I understand how people struggle to keep their native languages alive and refreshed all the time. If it weren’t for my Latinx friends, I would probably speak Spanish much less that I do now. It has also allowed me to understand the fear people have that they might mess up when speaking a less practiced language to other fluent people. Lozada-Oliva expresses this through “My Spanish”, where it’s clear that she’s not comfortable speaking Spanish, but it’s still a part of her identity and culture.
Hey there!
Thank you for your comment and for sharing your personal experience with language. I can’t imagine the emotions associated with losing your first language. Did you feel that Lozada-Oliva captured some universal feelings about that particular experience?