VI A Language To Live In

I did not begin writing in English out of intention.
It came later.
Quietly.
As something I needed.

For a long time,
I lived entirely within my native language.

It shaped how I spoke,
how I thought,
how I understood my place.

Everything moved within its structure.
Measured.
Implied.
Often left unsaid.

There were things I felt
that did not take form.
Not because they did not exist.
Because there was no space to hold them.

The language carried history.
Expectation.
A way of being.

It favored what was appropriate
over what was true.

For years,
I moved within these limits
without naming them.

Later,
I encountered another language.

At first, it was practical.
A way to function.

Then something shifted.

English allowed directness.
A sentence could stand
without negotiation.

I was not only translating.
I was thinking differently.

What had been vague
became precise.

What had remained distant
became reachable.

Writing in English did not change who I was.
It changed what I could reach.

There remains a distance
between the languages I carry.

One is rooted in history,
in family,
in what came before.

The other was entered later.
Less fixed.
Still forming.

I do not reject one for the other.

I recognize where I can breathe.
Where the sentence holds.

Writing in English became, over time,
a necessity.

Not to escape the past.
But to live with it
more clearly.

In a voice I could use.

—

Continue reading
About the project