#bicultural - Hello Poetry

bicultural but not totally bilingual kids will understand the sheer embarrassment of having to copy-paste what your parents text you in their native language into Google Translate detect language yes, to English, because it's the only thing I truly understand because I don't actually really know what Mom's saying at the end Do I really get the weight of each word she crafts lovingly into characters I've learned but words I don't quite string together or meanings I don't quite grasp I swear I do it's just I don't understand one hundred percent and if I could just g e t those last few phrases sometimes the entire paragraph she sends me rather than rely on a gray text editor that spits back in solid, black, unfeeling English alphabet "Coming home is always welcome" that's not my Mom's voice, with her smiling, sympathetic expression and steaming rice and kimchi stew, warm laundry, and squeaky slippers that's the translator mincing her words, chopping and scrambling them into something familiar to the brain but foreign to the heart I know she means "I'm always welcome to come home" but why couldn't I have gotten that immediately "I eat food well and I have to buy spring clothes." No, Google, I'm sure she means that I will eat her food well and buy spring clothes with her but machine learning algorithms aren't perfect not my mom so how would I really know I wish language could be copy-pasted into English in my mind so that I didn't have to go through this bland, unwilling, frugal third-party that knows nothing about my culture I am a copy-paste of my parents' DNA in flesh and blood so why is it that physically I am connected but mentally, intangibly, I've lost connection to the internet, and some features of Google Translate may be lost. Try again?

0

Mar 12, 2019

Mar 12, 2019 at 5:45 AM UTC

eva-crown

copy-paste

bicultural but not totally bilingual kids will understand the sheer embarrassment of having to copy-paste what your parents text you in their native language into Google Translate detect language yes, to English, because it's the only thing I truly understand because I don't actually really know what Mom's saying at the end Do I really get the weight of each word she crafts lovingly into characters I've learned but words I don't quite string together or meanings I don't quite grasp I swear I do it's just I don't understand one hundred percent and if I could just g e t those last few phrases sometimes the entire paragraph she sends me rather than rely on a gray text editor that spits back in solid, black, unfeeling English alphabet "Coming home is always welcome" that's not my Mom's voice, with her smiling, sympathetic expression and steaming rice and kimchi stew, warm laundry, and squeaky slippers that's the translator mincing her words, chopping and scrambling them into something familiar to the brain but foreign to the heart I know she means "I'm always welcome to come home" but why couldn't I have gotten that immediately "I eat food well and I have to buy spring clothes." No, Google, I'm sure she means that I will eat her food well and buy spring clothes with her but machine learning algorithms aren't perfect not my mom so how would I really know I wish language could be copy-pasted into English in my mind so that I didn't have to go through this bland, unwilling, frugal third-party that knows nothing about my culture I am a copy-paste of my parents' DNA in flesh and blood so why is it that physically I am connected but mentally, intangibly, I've lost connection to the internet, and some features of Google Translate may be lost. Try again?

48

the smell of fresh beans fills by dreams beckons me forth to my culture, to my people acceptance is key, but I'm rejected by the world simply because I don't fit the stereotype rejected by my people because I don't speak their language engraved in my heart are the traditions and beliefs of my people but my body betrays me I am Mexican I am American but the world makes me choose one because I don't look the way I'm supposed to

0

Mar 7, 2018

Mar 7, 2018 at 12:38 PM UTC

pieceofk8

Untitled

the smell of fresh beans fills by dreams beckons me forth to my culture, to my people acceptance is key, but I'm rejected by the world simply because I don't fit the stereotype rejected by my people because I don't speak their language engraved in my heart are the traditions and beliefs of my people but my body betrays me I am Mexican I am American but the world makes me choose one because I don't look the way I'm supposed to

12

How can I explain to you What is within me? I am African I am American I am both And I am neither I am something And I am nothing And yet…I am everything. But I cannot be like you Trust me. I’ve tried. You say “Welcome back” Like my roots are in this soil But how can I explain to you? Yes. My body originated here. But not my soul. No. My soul was born in the arms of Mama Africa She is not the ancestor of my skin But of my spirit And my roots run deep in her red earth Her drumbeat, my hear. Yet here I am… I look like you. I sound like you. But I am not like you. And when I try to explain What I’ve seen And done And known And how I became You feel as though I am big And you are not. But it isn’t true. I am not bigger. You are not smaller We are just…different. I contain a vastness That is misunderstood That vastness holds so much Yet often feels so empty. And I cannot be like you. Trust me. I’ve tried. But when I do it feels like chains Shackles of iron I try to deepen my roots For you. But when I try I can only seem to spread my wings And I am sorry. I am sorry that I cannot make my home in you. I am sorry that I make you feel small. I do not mean to. I am sorry I cannot find the words to explain What it is like To feel as though your skin is too tight for your soul To feel as though you are always Nowhere and Everywhere Nothing and Everything No one and Everyone Too much…and never enough I am sorry. But I am trying. So when I try… When I share with you these tangled feelings When I crack open the door To the whirlwind within Do not ask me to shut it. Please, do not ask me to hide away Because you cannot relate to the chaos behind my eyes. Don’t see the mess. See me. And love me. For the mystery that I am. To you. And to myself.

0

Mar 3, 2017

Mar 3, 2017 at 1:29 AM UTC

juniper_says

Exulansis

How can I explain to you What is within me? I am African I am American I am both And I am neither I am something And I am nothing And yet…I am everything. But I cannot be like you Trust me. I’ve tried. You say “Welcome back” Like my roots are in this soil But how can I explain to you? Yes. My body originated here. But not my soul. No. My soul was born in the arms of Mama Africa She is not the ancestor of my skin But of my spirit And my roots run deep in her red earth Her drumbeat, my hear. Yet here I am… I look like you. I sound like you. But I am not like you. And when I try to explain What I’ve seen And done And known And how I became You feel as though I am big And you are not. But it isn’t true. I am not bigger. You are not smaller We are just…different. I contain a vastness That is misunderstood That vastness holds so much Yet often feels so empty. And I cannot be like you. Trust me. I’ve tried. But when I do it feels like chains Shackles of iron I try to deepen my roots For you. But when I try I can only seem to spread my wings And I am sorry. I am sorry that I cannot make my home in you. I am sorry that I make you feel small. I do not mean to. I am sorry I cannot find the words to explain What it is like To feel as though your skin is too tight for your soul To feel as though you are always Nowhere and Everywhere Nothing and Everything No one and Everyone Too much…and never enough I am sorry. But I am trying. So when I try… When I share with you these tangled feelings When I crack open the door To the whirlwind within Do not ask me to shut it. Please, do not ask me to hide away Because you cannot relate to the chaos behind my eyes. Don’t see the mess. See me. And love me. For the mystery that I am. To you. And to myself.

79