The audience in my Language and Literacy Essay changed to being about first-generation kids who come from bilingual households and are learning to balance the skill of speaking both their native language and their cultural language also. The tools I have used were figurative language “my tongue lives between two countries” and dialogue in my writing between my mother and grandmother. Insight I’ve learned is expanding more on certain sentences that can expand and bring a better idea of what I’m trying to convey to the audience. During the practices I learned that you will have multiple drafts and the first time it won’t always be perfect but it’s the collaboration and ideas you get that helps you develop your writing along the way. Concepts that impacted my writing is knowing the audience I’m trying to speak to and connect with those who struggle being from America while your family is from a different country and speaks a different one from the one you’re used to growing up with. Peer review also helped me expand on my experience with speaking Spanish and ways I felt challenged to speak it with others.
First Draft:
My tongue lives between two countries-fluent in one and foreign in another. Being American-Dominican, I’m caught in between—never fully one but neither am I the other. I stand where 2 paths intersect, debating which side I should choose. When asked, “Where are you from?” I say, “I’m Dominican.” With pride of course—but that’s not the full story.
I never had palm trees sway in a backyard, stargazed in a clear night sky, or felt the warm Caribbean breeze that comes with endless Island summers being a part of my everyday life. Instead, I lived in a fast-paced city with unpredictable weather, packed train stations, strange smells from corners on the streets, living in an apartment with views of towering buildings. I went to school speaking English, watched American tv shows, and expressed myself in a language that was natural to me. But being Dominican is in my blood—two different worlds that intertwine into one. It isn’t unfamiliar to me—the rhythm of the music and living around my neighborhood, the kitchen speaking volumes of all the iconic dishes like rice, beans and chicken with the avocado on the side, plantains with salami. Surrounded by people who have the Dominican essence in their veins and take pride in that.
Both languages tug at me, with my family it’s all fast, loud, fluent Spanish that has its own rhythm that I try to decipher with the knowledge I picked up. Family get-togethers are my favorite, meaning holidays and birthdays. A short elderly red haired lady walked in the apartment as I opened the door, “Cion Abuela” I greeted her with a kiss on the cheek. “Dios te bendiga”, she replied with a loving tone. My siblings and cousins soon followed, greeting my Abuela with Spanish that flowed quick, smooth, and easy.
“¿Cómo estuvo el viaje?” My brother sat next to her on the dinner table. “Estuvo bien, el camino estaba tranquilo.”
They continued on, a few words I caught on, “familia”, “por la gracia de Dios”, “¿en serio?”— but the rest slipped through too quickly to comprehend. I watched and nodded, slipping some words here and there. “¿Cómo va la escuela?” Abuela turned her attention to me, sensing I wasn’t connecting much in the conversation. “Está yendo bien.” My accent cut through the air as she nodded with her tight knitted smile.
“Que bueno, espero que te gradúes y entres en una buena universidad.”
“Gracias, Abuela.”
My father entered the dining table, greeting his mother as he switched easily from English to Spanish. “Cion Mami.” Two halves that connected into one world. I sat there wanting to speak but hesitated, in fear of embarrassment, of saying something that didn’t sound right at all. Asking her about Angela’s Bakery, where she goes weekly to get a slice of cake for an affordable price, or the stores she goes shopping for her dresses, but it all stays at the tip of my tongue not able to escape. Keeping silent often happened with Abuela but in certain times I had to speak up.
For Mami, being the voice that she would lean on when English was spoken to her, the same way I depended on her to correct my Spanish. Sitting in a dimly lit restaurant where American cuisine was served, the waitress sat us down at a booth. “I’ll be right back to take your orders”, she smiled and placed the menus in front of us and walked back to the kitchen. Looking through the menu, I can see the puzzling look my mother had on her face, trying to understand the description of each meal. “¿Podrías explicarme el menú?”
“Claro que sí.”
I moved my menu towards her pointing out each dish. The waitress came back with cups of water. “Alright, I can start taking your orders. I will start with you ma’am.” Mami opened her mouth ready to speak.“I would, the um”- her voice going silent, perplexed on how she could explain what she wanted. I stepped in quickly before the silence extended too long, “she’ll have the ribeye steak with a salad.” The waitress nodded, writing down the order unfazed with what happened. When she walked away with our menus, Mami smiled softly, “gracias.” I smiled, knowing I only didn’t just help her but became that bridge she needed, the voice that spoke up for her when her English didn’t come through—I was there for her.
Moments like these help me realize that being American-Dominican isn’t a divide but a bridge, that brings me closer to the people I love. As a first-generation daughter, it has taught me that despite the obstacle of not knowing Spanish or English, America’s opportunities have opened doors for many immigrant families to succeed. I’ve learned I don’t have to choose one or the other, but I can merge the path into one, where the languages and cultures both live and thrive in me.
Final Draft:
“Where Two Paths Meet”
As a girl who grew up living in an urban fast-paced city, I never imagined growing up with palm trees swaying in my backyard or feeling the warm Caribbean breeze. But It wasn’t unfamiliar to me, the rhythm of the music and living around my neighborhood, the kitchen speaking volumes of all the iconic dishes of rice, beans, chicken, avocado and fried plantains. Especially during the holidays.
One particular Christmas Eve, I was seventeen years old, when it was my family’s turn to host the party at our house. “Ring” the doorbell rang and a short elderly, red haired lady walked in the house as I opened the door. “Cion Abuela” I greeted her with a kiss on the cheek, as she took her seat in the dining room. “Dios te bendiga,” she replied with a loving tone. My siblings and cousins soon followed, greeting my Abuela with Spanish that flowed quick, smooth, and easy.
“¿Cómo estuvo el viaje?”
My brother sat next to her on the dining table.
“Estuvo bien, el camino estaba tranquilo,” my grandmother replied.
They continued, a few words I understood “familia… por la gracia de Dios…en serio?” but the rest slipped through too quickly to comprehend. I watched and nodded.
“¿Cómo va la escuela?” Abuela asked me, sensing I wasn’t connecting much in the conversation. I always loved spending time with my grandmother, although sometimes not being able to communicate in Spanish can be difficult but she does her best in being patient with me by meeting me halfway. “Está yendo bien.” My accent cut through the air as she nodded with a tight knitted smile.
“Que bueno, espero que entres en una buena universidad.”
My father entered the dining room, greeting his mother as he switched easily from English to Spanish. “Cion Mami.” I sat there wanting to speak but hesitated, in fear of embarrassment, of saying something that didn’t sound right at all. Asking her about Angela’s Bakery, where she goes to get a slice of cake or the stores she shops at for her dresses. It all stays at the tip of my tongue not able to escape. Keeping silent often happened with Abuela but in certain times I had to speak up.
For Mami, being the voice that she would lean on when English was spoken to her, the same way I depended on her to correct my Spanish. Sitting in an American cuisine restaurant, the waitress sat us at a round table. “I’ll be right back to take your orders,” she smiled and placed the menus in front of us. Looking through the menu, I can see the puzzling look my mother had on her face, trying to understand the description of each meal. “¿Podrías explicarme el menú?”
“Claro que sí.”
I moved my menu towards her pointing out each dish. The waitress came back with cups of water. “Alright, I can start taking your orders. Starting with you ma’am.” Mami opened her mouth ready to speak.“I would, the um.” her voice going silent, perplexed on how she could explain what she wanted. I stepped in quickly before the silence extended too long, “she’ll have the ribeye steak with a salad.”
The waitress nodded, writing down the order unfazed with what happened. When she walked away, Mami smiled softly, “gracias.” I smiled, knowing I only didn’t just help her but became that bridge she needed, the voice that spoke up for her when her English couldn’t.
Moments like these help me realize that being American-Dominican isn’t a divide but a bridge, that brings me closer to the people I love. I realized that being bilingual isn’t an obstacle but a blessing to help those who find it difficult speaking English, like my mother at the restaurant, and moments where I’m surrounded by Spanish, with my grandmother, allows me to get out of my comfort zone, and now speak the language that is close to home to me and grow fluently in both languages. As first-generation immigrants, whether or not you speak Spanish or English fluently, you can still reap the benefits of knowing both languages, like in professional settings where they may need your assistance in translating, adding diversity for other people feeling welcomed or just simply helping someone in English class who isn’t very fluent in English. You don’t have to choose one or the other but can merge the path into one, where the languages and cultures both live and thrive together.
