I have a lot of stories that touch upon the transition I had to go through living in America, but the hardest thing for me really was when I was young.
I was raised to speak english, and think in english. So at school back home in the Philippines, since I couldn't understand anybody and had a hard time speaking my own language, I was usually the target of bullies. Kids anywhere can be cruel.
I never felt comfortable talking in Tagalog because of that experience, it was only in High School when I met friends that accepted that part of me that I slowly started picking up phrases and speaking in it.
I know my parents raised me in it in the hopes that I would have an edge in school (which it did, for some subjects), they never realized about the alienation that it could cause.
*picture is originally from http://www.samfundsfaget.dk/index.php?id=107
05/02/2014 (Saturday)- In English, Please?
From birth I was raised on English. From morning ’til night it was my milk and blanket, my stories and coos, my father’s goals and my mother’s dreams for me.
When my brothers and I played it was in English. Our make believe soldiers and fairy tale knights, these little childish Greek tragedies, where our plastic heroes died, their parting words in the only language we knew.
Later on we stepped out that little brown door, books in our bags, apples shined, our big boy words at the ready.
To only find out.
We were strangers in our own land.