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Speaking (Loudly) In Imperfect Spanish
A week ago, I gave a presentation in Spanish for the first time in my life. I have been speaking Spanish, on and off, since I was small, but it’s not my native language.
I was nervous until I wasn’t. Sure, I was going to have an accent. Sure, I was going to fuck up some words. But I had to stop letting that hold me back.
When I was a small child, I was in the care of my very racist white grandma. She hated that I was half-Latina. She would discourage speaking Spanish in her presence. I remember once helping an older woman who was lost. I gave her directions in Spanish. My grandmother punished me for it.
When I’m in Costa Rica, other Americans assume I’m fluent. I have Costa Rican family, so I’m basically from here, in their eyes. But on the flip side, when I speak, I see sometimes the look of confusion on Ticos’ faces when they finally clock me.
Ah, ella no habla español.
My existence and the languages I speak have been politically-charged since I was small. A KKK member spat on my white mom for interracial breeding. Meanwhile, online, people will debate whether or not someone like me is interracial at all. There will be a series of long comments over whether or not I’m actually “white.”
