Anyone who has ever met me knows how much I embrace my Filipino heritage. I enjoy finding communities, like Emerson’s ASIA (Asian Students In Alliance), that Asian and Filipino cultures are widely talked about and celebrated. I love going back to my hometown Cebu in the summertime to spend time with family and enjoy everything the Philippines has to offer that America can’t. One problem: I can’t speak my native language.
Although I was born in the Philippines, my yaya (caretaker) would only speak to me in English, therefore I would respond back in English. This was how I lived up until I was five when my parents and I moved to St. Kitts and Nevis in the Caribbean, where English was the island’s language. When I was six, we immigrated to the United States and settled in a small town in northern Virginia where I lived up until I moved to Boston for college.
From when I was five years-old, I was constantly surrounded by people who would only communicate with me in English. I spoke in English both in school and in my own home. I couldn’t understand what my parents were saying to each other because they were speaking in Cebuano and not something I could comprehend. I didn’t realize it then, but that was when I lost touch with my native tongue.
Looking back, I wish that I asked my parents to teach me the language, not only so I could reconnect with my culture, but also to communicate with people back home who don’t speak English on a regular basis. Whenever I would go back to Cebu during my summer break, I would be asked to greet my family members whom I haven’t seen in years only to be greeted with “Sabot ka?” “Do you understand?” A smile would disappear from my face as I would shake my head as an answer instead of simply replying, “Gamay.” “A little.”
I would be at dinner parties when I was back home, and I would feel so out of place, as if I had “FAKE FILIPINO” written in big letters across my forehead. Everyone around me would be conversing in Cebuano as I merely sat in silence, observing my relatives having fun telling stories and making jokes. Meanwhile, I’m trying my absolute best to understand what is being said instead of entering the conversation like everybody else.
I try to pick out words from the sentences that come out of people’s mouths that I definitely know, from asking my mom what those words are in English. I then try to connect those words to figure out how that can be formed into a sentence with all the conjunctions and pronouns and such. But they speak too fast for me to understand what they are saying all at once, and most of the time, I give up.
However, when I do understand something that someone says, there’s a clear reaction on my face, like “Yes! I finally understand something!” And then the other person goes, “Oh, so you do understand what I just said!” That ultimately breaks my confidence and sends me a clear reminder of my inability to speak and understand Cebuano like everyone else at that table.
My younger cousin, who is 8 years-old, can speak and understand Cebuano better than I can, and I’m constantly reminded of that. The fact that children can understand my native tongue better than I can send wavelengths of discouragement towards me; it tells me that I should be doing a better job on my part to understand my language.
The most I can do at this point is to speak a mix of Cebuano and English, or ask my mom or dad, “How do you say [this] in Cebuano?” When it comes to ordering at a food stand in the Philippines, though, is where things get tough. Because the person at the food stand assumes I speak Cebuano fluently from ordering something in Cebuano, they might say something to me in Cebuano back, something I might not understand at first. I would then have to turn to my mom or a family member for translation, looking like a lost puppy trying to find a way to communicate effectively.
I know some of it isn’t my fault—I grew up having to learn English because I would move to an English-speaking country later in my life. But I still feel like I could make an effort to learn more of my Filipino heritage and take time to learn the language, especially now as an adult. Although this could be a challenge, since Cebuano is not something you can find on Duolingo, I could make time either getting lesson books or getting lessons from someone else to fulfill my dying wish.
To my family: I’m sorry I don’t speak Cebuano fluently. But I hope to. And I will. Someday.