My Langyage Experiences: An Autobiography

• As a speaker of three languages, Arabic, English and German, I will discuss how my L1 (Arabic) and my L2 (English), which are my main fluencies, impact both my cognition and actions. In some languages like Arabic, French, and German, there are two ways of addressing people (formally and informally), whereas in English for example, only one form for addressing others is used, namely “you”. In German, we have “du” meaning “you” when we know the person well or we are intimate with that person, and we use “Sie” to mean also “you” but to show that person reverence or respect, or for when we do not know the person. Similar to that is the case in French (“tu” versus “vous”), respectively. In my L1, Arabic, the same is true, especially in “Standard” Arabic. Because Arabic is a gendered language, we have “anta” and “anti” to mean “you” (m) and “you” (f), respectively, when we do know the person. However, we use “hadratuka” (m) and “hadratuki” (f) for more formal situations, when addressing a professor, minister, or anyone of higher social status, both in oral and written formats.

• Even though this formal versus informal language structure is something cultural, it is now so integrated into my life, that I find it difficult to use merely “you” in English. Likewise and stereotypically speaking, in Arab culture and subcultures, it would be highly inappropriate or even impolite to address a professor by his or her first name. While at IUP, I have had professors ask me to use first names only, and witnessed other students, mostly American, actually do so. It is so ingrained in me culturally to avoid this, that I cannot bring myself to call a professor “Ben” or “Jerry”, for instance. So If I called a professor by their first names, I would think of myself as being impolite, rude and disrespectful. So the mere use of “Dr.” to call a professor makes me feel comfortable and at ease.

• I am known for speaking fast and unintelligibly in both my L1 and L2. Interestingly, my reactions are also fast and sometimes groundless and unjustified. I think things through very fast and reach hasty conclusions whether justified or not, and I seem to always be in a hurry. There is, I believe, correspondence and connection between the way I speak and the speed I speak at on the one hand and my hasty personality. I say things whether needed or unneeded for before thinking twice of the ramifications. I am very impatient; I need things to be done right now or never. So the words I use determine what person I am, what actions I do and how I perceive the world. In contrast, my uncle speaks at a slower pace and his actions are very slow as well. He is really a patient person who might take 3 hours to do something that needs no longer than fifteen minutes without getting agitated or throwing a fit about the thing he is doing. We are very different in terms of how we speak, how we behave and how we think things through.

• In my L1 Arabic, the word “Inshallah” is used to denote future tense (we will meet tomorrow at the library inshallah). It is a necessary part of the language, because religion is such an integrated part of the culture. The American people, who pride themselves on secularism, have no need for a linguistic convention like “inshallah”, because religion seems to be (from an outsider’s perspective) a very private and personal matter. Indeed, while in the U.S., I have noticed that talk of religion at all is somehow offensive to native speakers. Even Christians in Syria use “Inshallah”; therefore, the religious convention has been absorbed into the culture, and it can not be changed unless the way people think is first radically changed. So “Inshallah” is very intertwined with how we think. In other words, it does not only denote futurity but also refers to the fact that I am determined by a higher power (Divine power) without which there might be no tomorrow, for instance.

• Because I was raised in Damascus, the capital of Syria, away from my hometown of Serghaya (a countryside village on the Syrian – Lebanese borders), I am looked down upon when I return home, because my friends and relatives want to know why I am speaking “Damascene” Arabic (or city Arabic) to them. Even though this choice is unconscious, I am judged by it, and my family thinks that I am trying to separate myself from them linguistically. The irony is that even when I try to speak “Serghayan” Arabic, my family laughs at me, because it ends up being a blend of both dialects. So even though I try to identify myself with my family through speaking the way they do, this does not work. Like the partridge that wobbles from side to side when it walks, my family tells me to just pick a dialect and stick to it (“inta mitel el hajal”=you are like a partridge wobbling”). Also, when I stick to Damascene Arabic, which I really master, they make fun of me by trying to imitate me. Another irony is that the city people look down upon the country people, and the same is true for the country people thinking that city people are the truly inferior ones. I fear that I am on the losing side of both battles.

• Most of the linguistic choices I make are unconscious. For instance, my wife noticed that when I talk with her or her parents, I speak English “very well”, with little or no accent. However, she told me that when I speak to doctors, her extended family members or other people when I first meet them, I speak heavily accented English. Since she pointed this out to me, I realized that this is something that I tend to do when I feel nervous or outside of my comfort zone. Even at school, I tend to speak (unconsciously) different than I do when I am at home with my wife and in-laws. Perhaps this has to do with my sense of identity, or culture, as well as intimacy. Whenever it is just my wife and I, I feel very comfortable speaking to her.

• Even though I mainly speak in English here in the U.S., there are specific times when I tend to code-switch into my L1 Arabic. One common instance in which I use Arabic is when speaking to my Arabic-speaking friends, casually and in study groups. When I call someone on the phone, I usually start in Arabic, but switch to English if that person does, and the other way around. I take my cues from the people I speak with. If I am asked a question in Arabic, I will unconsciously answer in Arabic, even if the whole conversation to that point has been in English. I feel that I am showy if I answer an L1 question in my L2, but surprisingly, I do not feel this way when I answer an English question in Arabic.

• There are other times that I code-switch when I am frustrated or angry. I used to work at IUP’s Folgers Dining Hall, and sometimes when customers are rude or picky, I swear under my breath at them in Arabic, though usually I turn away first so they are less likely to hear. Another instance is that during a road trip to Ohio, the GPS system kept getting my wife and me lost, and I kept swearing in Arabic at the GPS, but I did not realize this until Amanda asked what I kept saying. A similar situation occurred one night when Amanda kept talking and nagging and I just wanted to sleep. Finally at 2 am, I lost my temper and said “namee ba’a” to mean “just go to sleep!” at which point she laughed, and she asked what I had said.

• Language use is so innate a function that I did not consciously become aware and think of most of what I mentioned above, until after I started writing and thinking about this autobiography. Similarly, sometimes we need outsiders’ opinions and observations, before we can become aware of our own behaviors. Had my wife not mentioned the accent issue to me, I might not have noticed any difference. Now that I am aware of my linguistic choices, I am more in control of them. My language use and the linguistic choices that I make are determined by a multiplicity of factors, including identity, culture, intimacy-level, socio-economic status, and where I am at any specific time. However, for me this happens unconsciously most of the time.