Whispers in thousands of different languages are spoken every day, some a symphony of soft sounds while others a gruff chorus of sharp echoes. Each carries their own history, their own nuances and more often than not are used to communicate with loved ones when separation is simply a matter of distance.
For Jiwon Ryu (12), both Korean and English are constants in her life.
“I speak Korean the whole time at home, with my family,” Ryu said “At school, I typically speak English — since most of the conversations and materials covered inside the classroom are in English — but sometimes, I would talk to my Korean friends in Korean. It feels more comfortable and intimate that way.”
Just like Ryu, Doruk Hoke (11) switches languages depending on the environment he finds himself in, in this case alternating between Turkish and English.
“At school, I speak English … only because there’s [not] a lot of Turkish people at school that I would speak [the language] with,” Hoke said, “But at home, I basically only speak Turkish because it’s [my] family.”
Both Hoke’s mother and father speak Turkish, as well as his grandma. He and his parents were “the first of his family” to move to the United States, and “[his family] didn’t have any relatives here or … know anyone.”
“[Speaking] Turkish and being proud of it … really helps me conserve my family history and keep that spirit alive,” Hoke said.
Junior Villegas, Spanish 1 and Spanish 2 teacher, was born in the United States but both his parents are from Mexico, specifically in “a smaller town from the state of Guerrero, which is north of Alculpulco.” He uses Spanish to stay connected to his family, especially with his parents.
“Spanish was my first language, and so those were all my roots,” Villages said. “I studied in a bilingual program here in Encinitas. I grew up in Encinitas, and so I grew up with Spanish. And I’m grateful that I’m able to speak it … It was always really important because we could only communicate with my parents in Spanish. They knew very little English, and so with my entire family, on both my parents’ side, Spanish was our first language, and that’s our form of communication.”
Ryu uses Korean to keep connected to her heritage.
“The moment I became conscious, it was there—the Korean community, not especially welcoming nor especially hostile—and followed me since then,” Ryu said. “I feel inseparable from my language—because the act of constantly speaking it, reading it, and writing it tightens the roots I’ve left in Korea … sometimes, I never feel like I left anything even after so long of not living there. Outside [of] schoolwork, I do everything in Korean. I watch Korean TV, read Korean books, listen to Korean music and memorize random thoughts in Korean. It sounds excessive when I write it down, but it’s not excessive to me, because it’s simply that natural.”
Both Korean and Turkish are languages that sit in the backdrop of a rich history of vast empires that both experienced triumph and failure, and serve as a way to recognize the origins of the cultural influences that exist today. According to Hoke, the history of the Turkish language is one that originates in the ancient Ottoman Empire.
“The [Ottoman Empire] made Turkish the official language,” Hoke said. “After the Ottoman Empire ended, Turkey became a republic, and they made [Turkish] their official language. It’s kind of like in America when they were colonies with … England but then they broke off and America made their official language English.”
For Ryu, Korean, just like any other language, has and will continue to persevere through the passage of time.
“Every second and every minute someone speaks that language is when history is made, meaningful or not,” Ryu said. “I don’t think words just dissolve in the air as they come out of our mouths. Even if all the papers burn—if all the books, newspapers, journals, historical records and all—it will always remain true that each word, each expression, was once called their name, and was used to deliver ideas and emotions between human and human. So language must be not conserved, but used. This is not only true for my language. It’s for every language that exists out there.”
Language is not only a catalog of the entire history of a nation, it is also a way to record deeply personal experiences. In the case of both Hoke and Ryu, Korean and Turkish are tied to joyous moments in their pasts.
“Speaking Turkish really reminds me of when I was younger, and all my good memories with friends that I had and where I used to live before,” Hoke said. “Every time I speak Turkish [the memories] just come flooding in. I moved to America when I was 10. So before that, [until i was] 10, it was just all Turkey and Turkish for me, and so I have a lot of good nostalgia with Turkish there.”
Simply hearing Korean, the language that “witnessed her growth,” elicits feelings of nostalgia for Ryu.
“My purest moments of childhood have always been accompanied by a quiet hustling of Korean: my mom and grandma talking at the dining table; funny, nostalgic TV shows filling up the silence of our living room; the giggles and screams of elementary kids walking back home with tteokbokki sauce spilling onto their hands,” Ryu said. “In all those moments — those long, boring, rather silent pauses of life—Korean filled up my ears and pulled me back to listening to the sound of life, with voices overlapping back and forth, saying saranghae, mianhae, or everything in between. I always feel protected under it — unchallenged, undemanded of proof that ‘I am such and such person.’ To this day, my mother tongue is somewhere I can escape amidst the exhaustive complications of English—to feel like a child, and to feel okay to be like one.”
But just as Hoke and Ryu grew up and changed as the years passed, so did the languages themselves. As modern influences crept in, the language that the younger and older generations were experiencing became quite different, although they remained similar in their roots.
“My grandparents are visiting us from Turkey right now and they’re staying with us for a while … [and] I can just tell how they learned the language versus how I learned it when [I was] young was completely different because of the environment,” Hoke said. “Just like English now, young people speak differently. [There is] slang and that sort of stuff. There’s obviously the basic things that you learn that don’t change, but then there’s different ways of saying [things]. When I’m hanging out with my Turkish friends back in Turkey, or even here, I definitely use language that my parents or grandparents would not use.”
Ryu has also noticed a similar language divide when communicating with her grandparents.
“Especially with social media, new words are ‘invented’ everyday, and sometimes those who are older don’t have a clue on what they mean,” Ryu said. “In Korean TV shows, they even do quizzes out of these [new words]. But on the other hand, some words that are only seen in older books and scrolls become outdated. I try to keep myself connected to those by asking my grandparents about those words, hidden in their stories ‘back in the day,’ and also by not being picky about what I choose to read. Reaching for shorter, easier forms of language only available inside a tiny screen doesn’t help comprehension [or] communicative skills at all.”
Even when modernity pushes change, certain foods in every language still retain their special meaning, describing feelings or ideas that do not exist in another language elsewhere.
Hoke’s favorite word in Turkish, Tebrikler, carries a joyful note, as it roughly translates to “congratulations.”
“It’s just a good way to portray your feelings of, ‘You know, good job,’” Hoke said “It’s fun to say.”
For Ryu, her favorite word in Korean is “마음,” which is “pronounced ‘ma-eum.'”
“It’s hard to explain … It’s somewhere in between the connotations of ‘heart’ and ‘mind’ and ‘feeling’ and ‘love,’ but has a much lighter and warmer breeze to it,” Ryu said. “It doesn’t necessarily always carry a good emotion, sometimes it can be evil, ugly ones. But the word ‘마음’ somehow suggests to me that everything will be okay. That every emotion born inside myself is mine, and a part of myself.”
Ryu treasures the opportunity to “embrace the diverse, boundless potential of expression” that speaking Korean gives her.
“There are many unique words that relate to specific kinds of taste. For example, under the umbrella of ‘spicy,’ there is ‘매콤하다’ vs ‘얼큰하다,’” Ryu said. “Both mean spicy, but have a different feeling to it. The former is a more stinging, umami taste, whereas the latter refers to a more cathartic release when eating spicy stew. The hardest ones to translate, though, would be certain feelings — such as ‘아깝다’ (showing disappointment when something was ‘on the cusp’), ‘어이 없다’ (showing mixed feelings of anger, startledness, and speechlessness when something ridiculous happens). I like this gray area in between languages, when some things seem too unique to be replaceable. Perhaps, with all these arrays of ‘untranslateables,’ we are able to preserve the feeling that each and every one of us are special.”
In the case of Spanish, Villegas has noted how the language varies amongst regions.
“There’s certain words that are definitely different in certain states of Mexico,” Villegas said. “It is interesting to hear from people from Spain or from South America, where some words are slightly different from others, and some are completely different.”
For Ryu, Korean affords her the opportunity to access a greater level of self expression.
“In Korean, I tend to be more expressive,” Ryu said. “I journal in Korean everyday, so I can see things more clearly and reflect on my own thoughts in a deeper, philosophical manner. For example, what would be limited in the single English term of ‘existentialism,’ in Korean, would be expanded out into sporadic goals and wishes, about what I hope to explore and give focus to in the future.”
Every day, Villegas encourages his sons to maintain their connection through their Hispanic heritage through continuing to practice the language
“Their Spanish [should] be a little bit stronger … I still continue to speak to them in Spanish,” Vileges said. “I’m glad that they’re able to communicate, especially with my mom in Spanish.”
Still, the pressure to assimilate can be a powerful force in shaping behavior.
“I don’t want to say that they’re losing the language but I do see the younger generation perhaps [becoming] more fluent in English, or maybe perhaps even trying to assimilate and not practice the language as much,” Villegas said. “I grew up with a couple of Hispanic friends as well that just spoke English, even though Spanish was spoken at home. They start losing the practice of speaking a language, and because it’s a skill, if you stop at any point practicing something, then you’re probably going to lose the fluency.”
Yet, for all the influence that language carries, Ryu suggests it not be the whole story in shaping cultural and individual identity.
“Language is definitely a keystone, I agree, but it’s hard for me to say that it’s the whole recipe for becoming a part of something that could’ve otherwise been foreign,” Ryu said.
