I have trouble translating from English to English. My family originates from Jamaica and we speak Patois (English Creole) at home; so sometimes I mix up which phrases in “English” I should use. I will often find myself mixing the different dialects to try to cater to the standards around me. To most people, it seems like a small blunder in speech, when in actuality it is my culture pouring from my lips before I can modify it. The words come so effortlessly to me because they are easier to say, think, feel, and understand. They connect me to my family, their past, and the rich history of my little island, Jamaica. When I speak it, my intentions are clear and my emotions are more explicit. Sometimes when I get excited and I am talking to my friends, I will accidentally say something they do not understand like call an ice pop a “kisco” or say, “look from when...” instead of “how long ago did…”. When this happens, I quickly explain what I meant and correct myself. The problem is not that I do not know these phrases: the problem lies in translation. At times, I have to translate, whether it is because I am at school or just in public, where many people may not understand. It swallows my intentions, my language, and my culture into a chasm of carefully rearranged words. I exchange laughter at what could potentially be a funny joke for a clumsy fumbling of my words; I remove the passion from my stories and add a straining grasp on its focus. I resolve to mask my culture behind “proper” speech introduced to me secondarily. So sometimes, when I am brave enough, I speak English, my English. The English taught to me by my ancestors. The English that I go home to and sing songs in; freeing myself from the weight of the constant, cautious, restraints on my speech. My friends will often laugh and blurt out, "What did you just say?" in a loose attempt to understand the exchange. However, their misunderstanding is my understanding. My English that bonds me to a whole island of individuals emerges from its cocoon of “proper” wording into its full, unapologetically beautiful form. It is in these moments that I reclaim myself from translation. Christina Green'17- Spring 2017 Issue
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