English as a second language

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More on the languages we don’t speak – but are presumed to

Photo by Florian SEROUSSI/Flickr (Creative Commons)

A couple of posts this week have explored the awkward moments when people are presumed to speak (or not speak) a certain language because of how they look, whether they be children of immigrants who don’t speak their parents’ native tongue, light-skinned Latinos mistaken for non-Latino whites, Filipinos mistaken for Latinos or any other linguistic mistaken-identity case.

The most recent post featured two readers’ personal anecdotes and drew a couple of additional comments, including this one from Sylvia Cabus:

I’ve been mistaken for many nationalities, even Brazilian-Japanese, but fellow Filipinos don’t believe I’m from the Philippines.

The language problem is complicated as well because I speak Visayan, not Tagalog, and my Moroccan husband (who looks Latino) and I speak French at home.

That does sound complicated, although Lun30 pointed out the bright side:

Oh, that is why I love this country. It is so diverse!

I am from Ecuador and everyone thinks I am Peruvian or Venezuelan, no worries. But with my blond dyed hair I could pass for…whoever that speaks English… I do, but I have to admit that Spanish will be my main language ever. English (and this amazing country) united us…

Read the original post here, which highlighted an essay from a half Filipina, half German-Irish writer who is consistently presumed to speak Spanish, but doesn’t.

If anyone identifies, share your story below.

When you’re expected to speak a language you don’t – or vice versa

Photo by polandeze/Flickr (Creative Commons)

A short post yesterday highlighted a recent essay from a writer who is part Filipina and part German-Irish, but is often presumed to be Latina – and therefore, to speak Spanish. Only that she can’t.

Spanish makes her nervous “because I can’t speak it, and I look like I should,” author Sabina Murray wrote on The Nervous Breakdown website. “If you speak to me in Spanish, it feels like an invitation to something great that, unfortunately, I can’t accept.”

As expected, the post resonated with readers who posted comments about their own experiences with the languages people expect them to speak – or not – based on how they look.

The “or not” is a biggie, too. Take it from yours truly, a native Spanish-speaking Latina who is all too often asked “How did you learn to speak Spanish so well?”

Here’s the comment that Elson Trinidad posted:

Yes, I get this ALL THE TIME as a Filipino. Ironically, though I’m fluent in neither, I know more Spanish than Tagalog. Having grown up all my life to embrace my Filipino heritage, it bugs me a bit when people speak to me in Spanish…but I’m also a native Angeleno and it just comes with the territory, so if I understand what they’re saying and can respond in Spanish, I’ll do that.

What REALLY annoys me is if I tell a (nearly always) 1st generation Filipino that I’m a kababayan (fellow Filipino) and they’ll be in disbelief, and in fact doubt my Filipino-ness. Maybe it’s because I have an ‘American’ accent, which smashes their paradigm of what defines a ‘Filipino,’ but sadly in my life I’ve been told by waaaaaaaay more Filipinos that I’m “Not Filipino” than white people who have told me I’m “Not American.”

On the other hand, the other week, I was buying oranges from my local farmer’s market and the Latino vendor said “Maraming Salamat!” to me as I paid for my purchase. I smiled.

That made my day.

And on the other side of that coin, this comment from Engrpax, who identifies as Norwegian-Mexican-Jewish and speaks more Spanish than his half-Peruvian son in law, who people assume speaks Spanish but doesn’t (confusing enough?):

I, on the other hand, am Anglo appearing, (blond hair, blue eyes, I’m of half Norwegian descent and I’ve been told that I spoke Norwegian before English, although I don’t remember it at all), but I am also of Mexican descent, and I speak Spanish with some ease…

Nevertheless, I was also raised in a half Jewish family, where Yiddish was the other family (business) language.  I’ve also formally studied Arabic, French, and Japanese with varying results.

I have an adopted (Anglo appearing) daughter who is of Irish/Italian descent who also easily speaks Spanish; she is married to a man who is of German/Peruvian descent, who looks very Latino, but doesn’t speak Spanish at all. In social/public situations, he is often addressed in Spanish, and she has to reply for him.

Oh, yeah, we live in So. California, where Spanish IS the other language…

More thoughts, anyone? Have you ever been presumed to speak a language that you don’t speak because of your appearance, derided for not speaking your native tongue, or thought not to speak it (when you do) because you don’t fit an expected stereotype?

Pik-sa, pisa or pizza?

Pizza (or pik-sa, or pisa) con jalapeños, May 2009

A reader responding to a recent collection of awkward language moments experienced by English learners, or people who were raised by them, has shared a good one: “pik-sa,” better known as pizza.

Edith Padilla wrote:

I cannot seem to shake my habit of saying “pik-sa” instead of “pit-za.” I don’t make that mistake with the word mozzarella but pizza is a whole different story.

I’ve heard that one among Latinos, as well as “pisa,” like in the leaning tower of Pisa or the Spanish verb “pisar,” meaning to step or tread on. I visited my parents last weekend and shared a “pisa” with them for lunch. A Hawaiian pisa with barbecued chicken, which was quite tasty.

Have an ESL moment to share? Feel free to post anecdotes below.

Five awkward language moments

Photo by Visentico/Sento/Flickr (Creative Commons)

In a post earlier this week, I described what can best be called being haunted by the ESL ghost. I learned English in kindergarten and have no discernible accent, no trace of my native Spanish in my otherwise very American-sounding speech.

But growing up in a family of immigrant English learners, I picked up many of the mispronunciations that are common to those who learn English as a second language, and some of these dog me to this day.

In the post I shared a couple of awkward language moments, like times I’ve mispronounced colander as “co-LAN-der” and my tendency to call a skiing balaclava a “ba-CLA-va,” which sounds a bit like one of my favorite pastries.

Since then, readers have responded by sharing some of their own ESL moments. Here are a few, edited slightly for typos:

Rogelio Gómez Hernández wrote:

Try confusing chicken and kitchen. Or wheel with will (as in testament).

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El code-switching es normal, experts say

guys talking

Photo by polandeze/Flickr (Creative Commons)

A street conversation in August 2007, languages unspecified.

This afternoon I happened to catch a re-tweet of an interesting post that SpanglishBaby, a website dedicated to bilingual parenting, published a couple of months ago on code-switching. For those who don’t call it code-switching, it’s that thing that bilingual types, i.e. people like me, do when we’re having a conversation, say, with our mother or our cousin or a close comadre or compadre in English, then inexplicably switch to our native language, then switch back.

For bilinguals, code-switching is business as usual. For monolinguals who overhear us as we’re jabbering into our cell phones in the produce section at Whole Foods, asking “Should I get the organic fruta bomba?” of the person at the other end, it can be infuriating.

Code-switchers have been accused of being linguistically lazy, among other things. Not so, according to language expert François Grosjean, whose recently published book “Bilingual: Life and Reality” is highlighted in the post.  A quote from one linguist who is cited in the book: “Code-switching is a verbal skill requiring a large degree of linguistic competence in more than one language, rather than a defect arising from insufficient knowledge of one or the other.”

The reasons why people code-switch are explained, among them: to express an idea best captured in one language and not the other, because the code-switched words are the only ones available for a particular term, and yes, sometimes as a way to communicate in an exclusionary manner, which, understandably, annoys those who don’t understand.

In general, the author debunks “the beliefs that bilinguals who code-switch do so out of laziness or because they don’t know either language well enough to stick to just one language. According to the author, code-switching is actually not easy to do,” the post reads.

Thank you, SpanglishBaby. Me siento validated.