Adapting to the American Ways

I cannot recall a specific moment of my life where people looked down upon me just because of my lack of “proper” language and literacy skills, as all these times of discrimination I faced, happened during my first few years in America. My experience with this matter is based on my parents’ reflection on it towards me. You see, I grew up in a household where everyone struggled to learn English at first. My family and I were all immigrants from Bangladesh, and from what I am told, the first few years of our lives were the hardest yet. My parents told me when they arrived in this brand-new world, all they had was some money they had saved up for a few years and the assistance of family members that helped them get here. They only knew the simple command words that they learned from a dictionary, so it was not much to go on, but sufficient so that they could understand simple directional words. My parents had to cope with this new world’s customs while learning its language and culture, and raising a family at that. I still think about it to this day of how they managed to do such a feat in just a few years, it still surprises me. Sure they had some hiccups along the way and still sometimes do, but it was sufficient so that it helped me to start my journey in literacy and language. My journey in adapting to this new world’s literacy and language was easier than compared to my parents because unlike me, my parents were already so familiar with one another. However, that did not stop them from trying. Their main reason for coming here is to give me and my brother the chance for a better life. Although life back there was not bad, just old-fashioned, and my parents wanted more for us. They wanted something new, especially my mother, who tried her best to give me the best life I could have.

Before I started going to school, my mother would often take me to the library. She thought it was the best place to enhance my reading skills because of the serene environment. We would get a handful of books, sit down, and attempt to read them aloud together. When we came across words that were unfamiliar to us, she would ask the older children or workers around us for help. Though there was a language barrier, she gradually overcame it, and on certain days, someone who spoke the same language as us was there to aid us along the way. While teaching me to read and write, she, herself, was learning too. Back then I thought the world was a nice place, where if I needed help, people were there to give it without any negative ideas. However, later I realized that it was not the case. I found many people to look down at the so-called “uneducated”, where they would think less of you if you could not simply speak English. Where they would take advantage of you when they could, just because they think you do not know what they were secretly doing. I saw this a lot throughout those early years when I was with my parents, but I did not understand its extent till later. The older I got, the more I realized the world was full of people who treated you like a simple-minded person just because you cannot say what you are thinking properly.

Being Bengali was our prime focus in my household, so learning its language and culture while learning America’s language and culture was hard for me. Furthermore, my parents tried to put religion on top of that. I would try to transition between both, but in the end, the English side came out at the top. Probably because school was a bigger part of my life than I realized. Although now I have a better grasp of things, I still do make the occasional mistake. Sometimes confusing a Bengali word for an English one or vice versa. I would consider myself more proficient in English than I would in Bengali, and my parents would agree. From their perspective, I would have a “broken” Bengali. For example, I would occasionally use English words when communicating with parents in Bengali, as those Bengali words I don’t know how to say I would try to say them in English, but with an accent. Yet, from the perspective of people outside the Bengali culture, it would appear I have somewhat of an “Indian” accent. Personally, I do not see it, other than the occasional hiccup where my Bengali sides come out at the top, or when I do it on purpose. I consider myself more American than I would Bengali because I have spent more time developing it than Bengali, but from the eyes of other Americans, they would disagree because I am not up to their standards. I now considered my writing “normal” from the American point of view and my literacy just as much, that of which I could back up. However, even though I have come a long way from those first few years in America, the only part I would say that still needs work is my speaking side. Even so, is that so wrong because at the end of the day, it is just a part of my Bengali side? The other half of my identity.