(This is my final draft of the LLN essay with my unique take on what language means to me, using the narrative moment of my girlfriend’s sister’s wedding.)

The Art of Language

I am, objectively, not a writer. I don’t like writing. I like reading. The art of interpretation is a beautiful one- but I’m awkward, when it comes to voicing what goes on in my brain out loud. I stutter. I stammer. I say the wrong thing and I talk too much and then I have to backtrack. My writing is clunky- I use too many em-dashes, or too many periods, or a run-on sentence. And I excuse it for effect, because I’d like to think I’m cool like that. It’s funny, because in general, I’m very quiet. I come from a mixed household, technically- Jamaican mother, Senegalese father, all Black. We’re quiet until we’re not. At least, my dad and I are. Around the public, we’re reserved. The jokes fall just a little too flat to laugh at. More analytical than emotional. Voices quiet until they really have to be. In the sense that- yes, we can be loud. But not until we’re comfortable and familiar. 

This summer, my girlfriend’s older sister got married. I remember feeling so utterly out of my element. Her family is Hispanic, so while it was a small affair at her house, it was loud. The two families mingling and talking, the taste and smell of empanadas, and her cousins around me. I could see the swarms of people, coming in and out, greeting each other. There was singing. Excited talking. Enthusiastic shouting– so much emotion in the air I could almost touch it. I didn’t talk much. Didn’t see reason to– I, in my mind, compared it to my own family. Even when there’s an event, it’s restrained to the backyard. The house stays fairly quiet, tranquil. Undisturbed. Everyone has their own rooms, and typically, they stick to it. I could just sleep through it. But here, there was my girlfriend’s family, laughing, crying, celebrating.

Her sister took the time to greet me properly, and even while she was so preoccupied, we had a conversation about me and my life. My voice was quiet. Hers, confident and strong. My girlfriend joked around with her cousins in the background, everyone yelling to be heard. I was touched to be invited to such an event, but also overwhelmed. A billion new faces, not ones I knew or trusted. Much more noise than I would ever be used to, more interaction, plain and simple frankness. I am not nearly as open, as exuberant. But I wasn’t unwelcome. I found myself excited to learn to speak their language, not only Spanish, but the language of openness. Talking freely, being yourself without a care in the world. Of dancing, and not caring who watches.

My friends who think I am loud have not met my girlfriend. She talks. And talks. And talks. Over the last year and a half, it has changed my own language. She spent that entire wedding dragging me around. Introducing me to primos and tias and tios. It was a lot of talking. A lot of forcing myself to make small talk and chatter and all the stuff I usually hate doing. It’s genuinely like speaking a whole different language. Laugh at the right time. Know when to be loud. Be careful- sometimes you have to be polite and demure. It’s a game of sorts, and you have to know how to play it. I usually don’t. Scratch that- playing the game is like rewiring internal code. Except you have to put in a different piece of code for every person, because every person is different. It’s exhausting, but also enlightening. Every person has their own unique language, influenced by their surroundings and backgrounds– friends, family, culture– and it means I have to adjust accordingly to every person. It makes each person a puzzle, and an experience.

I always excelled in school. English was not an exception- in fact, I found it to be an easy class. Never below 90s in all my years. But the language of expression, of communication, that is a whole different beast. My girlfriend was my big change. It showed me the differences between languages in the context of physical and silent language. In this world, some cultures frown upon others. We see others as different and we avoid them, or worse, believe that they aren’t equals. Knowing her was a fundamental change to my language. To be in this moment taught me how different every family is, even if we all grew up in the same place. Society is a mixing pot of knowing and understanding all languages; and it doesn’t always have to be learning English on paper. Society is knowing each individual person and recognizing what they come from- generations going back centuries, cultures enmeshed, to create each new person that will change you in turn. That’s the part that people underestimate. Because the beauty of knowing someone different than you is becoming a different person yourself.