respuestas published

IS MY SPANISH
MY LATINIDAD?
BY DAISY QUIÑONES
I wish I could speak with my grandma.
She’s not dead—though she always talks about how we’ll miss her “cuando regrese a Dios.” She’s not
that far from me—when she’s not in México, she’s only a 25 minute drive away in South Central.
I just can’t hold a conversation in Spanish. I’m a “no sabo,” a term that makes fun of people
with imperfect Spanish. While “no sabo” is meant to label those that can’t speak any
Spanish, it’s also used as an insult any time someone makes just one, trivial error.
Simply using the wrong gender can provoke it. It’s usually a joke, but there’s no
denying that it has exclusionary tones to it.
I’m not entirely clueless. I can read, write, and occasionally hold a
conversation. After all, Spanish was my first language. It brought me
together with my community. Most importantly, it meant that when my
grandma spoke to me, I could respond.
I don’t know exactly when all of that stopped. I know that when
I got a little older,my parents thought that having daughters that
had perfect English would mean that they’d get into good
colleges and secure better futures. So, there was less
Spanish from them. We also started attending predominantly
white schools, where I was teased for having an accent
when saying words like “tortilla,”or for correcting the
pronunciation of my last name to teachers. I quickly
learned to water down my accent, to pronounce words the
same way that the white girls next to me would. Because
my Spanish was already slipping, I’d do whatever I could to
avoid talking to my grandparents. I did this especially with
my grandma, who barely knows English. That sounds awful,
I know. But it’s embarrassing when your tíos, primos, and
even your parents tease you for talking slower as you try
thinking of the translations for simple sentences. They
criticize instead of offering to help. So I grew anxious when it
came to speaking. And that anxiety lead to dread.
Looking back, it happened so quickly. One moment, I was
praying with my grandma in her dining room. The next, she would
try telling me how proud she was of my grades, or try sneaking in a
joke about my dad—and all I could respond with was a blank stare,
a broken heart, and the feeling that I was growing further from her,
my family, and my culture.
For the longest time, I thought that my weak Spanish was why I didn’t
belong, and that I wasn’t Mexican or Latina enough. But that’s because I
perceived Spanish as my only connection with others. There’s such a strong
emphasis within Latine culture (at least in the U.S.) on Spanish being our
Latinidad, that it often overshadows the other ways that we connect with one another.
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Visual by Melissa Morales