Karma Chameleon.

Laellanie Gonzalez

I could tell you about how I’m bilingual and how knowing Spanish is convenient. Honestly knowing Spanish really doesn’t mean anything to me anymore. I mean, sure it’s a way for me to communicate with my family but most of them can understand every word of English I speak and I understand their Spanish just the same. I could say that I love the language and how beautiful it sounds, the way it just rolls off the tongue but my Spanish is so broken up and gross that I don’t think you can even consider it Spanish. In fact I grew up referring to my second language as “Spanglish.”

The story goes like this; I lived with my grandmother for a very brief period. When I was five years old it was decided by the powers that be, better known as my mom, that I would live with Abuela Mita because Mami had to go away. My mom had enlisted in the army in order to pay for college; she totally bought into the hype and apparently thought it would make a better life for us; she ultimately didn’t do the 20 years that make it a career thing or even finish her college degree, I know she always regretted that.

When I lived with my grandmother she didn’t speak a word of English and still to this day doesn’t know anything. I could never understand why she never bothered learning how to speak at least the smallest things but she’s made it in America for years without so much as a problem until she had to stay with me. She spoke to me everyday in Spanish and wouldn’t respond to me unless I answered her in Spanish. So according to everyone Spanish was my first language. I find this very hard to believe because the language is so difficult for me now.

Speaking isn’t difficult but I have a very hard time stringing the words together in a coherent manner. When under pressure the things I would say didn’t really make sense. I tend to pause, think and by the time I realize what it is that I want to say the conversation is over. This is where the Spanglish began to make its mark, in order to avoid pauses and long breaks in conversation I substituted the words in Spanish for English ones and just plug in the Spanish version when it comes to mind. When speaking to my family, more specifically my Abuela Cuti (coo-ti) things get especially frustrating because I want to tell her so much. I usually get ahead of myself and start plugging in the English words expecting her to know. She always looks at me like I was crazy, laughs and says “ Ay mija si tu supiera, yo me siento tan feliz cuando tu estas aqui conmigo aunque no se lo que estas diciendo algunas veses.” (Oh my girl, if you only knew how happy I am when you’re here even though I don’t know what it is that you’re saying some of the time.) When she says this I always laugh and say, “ ay abuela Te amo tanto, y nunca…. its’ never going to change…por siempre. (Oh grandma I love you so much and its never going to change. Forever)

Spanglish was a lifesaver; I didn’t have to be ashamed about how little Spanish I knew because my generation is expected not to know fluent Spanish. Being born in the Bronx really didn’t help my case, because not only did I butcher the language of my ancestors but I butchered the English language as well. Slang not only took over my speech, it took over the speech of every “ghetto” of every borough in every state.

In my “hood” that’s how you knew who was cool and who wasn’t. Knowing how we referred to the different “gangsters” or the words we used to say things like cool (poppin) and you’re crazy (you’re wildin out) was how you fit in. Apparently I didn’t fit into this world either. I was always told that my voice sounded funny saying like things like deadass or that was fire! I spent so much time trying to make my accent sound a lot less Hispanic I didn’t realize that it put my creditability with my friends into question. To a self-conscious very insecure person like myself this was the worst thing that could happen. No matter how much I would try to fit in, I was always standing out.

What should I refer to as my language or my “voice,” with an apparent accent that makes my professional voice sound; as my schoolmates and so called friends would refer to as fake; and broken Spanish, what exactly is my “voice.” I just like to tell everyone I’m a “Karma karma karma karma karma chameleon”