When the mother tongue falters

It's the usual interrogation phone call when my grandparents check if my studies are going well, if I'm free from illness, if I'm eating well, yadda yadda. In conversing with them and dutifully reporting my life events, I stumble verbally. Occasionally, a word arises that I don't quite have. I resolve this through what I would call “crossword speak”, where instead of saying a specific word, I speak “around” it, coming up with enough similar terms to communicate the general concept. The conversation flows, but, at least in my mind, clumsily. 

It seems shameful to have your first language degraded. Your first means of understanding the world and expressing yourself seems to be a fundamental and grounding feature. It's quite a radical shift: the language I acquired through speaking with and listening to my mother is now a language that strikes a nerve whenever I’m confronted with it unexpectedly. I’d liken it to being presented with a final exam from a first-block course in the middle of block 3. You should know how to answer it all, and most of it is vaguely there, but recalling it would be a laborious process. 

I moved from my home country at age 4 and acquired English as a second-almost-native language (linguists would pin me as a delightful edge case). I never really had a great start with my mother tongue as I haven’t spent a single day in a classroom learning it. Now living in the Netherlands, my main source of practising my first language, speaking to family, has gone from a daily activity to something I only do a few times a month. With family, I am at least speaking with people who are familiar with some of my more creative approaches and workarounds. It’s a bit difficult sometimes, but we’re all used to it. However, when meeting someone new or answering a stranger’s text/email, the experience is more akin to a panicked secretary scavenging through a dusty room, filtering through unnamed folders to find the correct words or phrasing, or even getting the grammar right sometimes. 

Now, two questions arise here. Firstly, is this a problem that requires intervention? There is a world where I accept that this isn’t a language that I’m ever planning to use on the regular. I don’t plan on returning to my country of birth. Even if I did, I could probably just relearn it there. I’m also not particularly persuaded by the argument of preserving my culture or identity or that kind of thing. However, I am persuaded by the fact that it’s the main, and in some cases only, manner by which I can communicate with my family. Additionally, it appears that bilingualism can help mitigate cognitive decline in older age. A first language is generally just a skill that you’re given for free, and it’s one less language to have to learn explicitly. Languages are hard (as I’ve been reminded by trying to learn Dutch). So yeah, I think the problem requires intervention. 

The second question is what kind of intervention I could feasibly take. There are language classes out there, of course, though most require generous fees. Most of these are beginner courses, with a few advanced ones strewn in. Come to think of it, I haven’t heard of classes targeted at native speakers who’ve had their language skills diminish over time. I could also join a community where I would speak the language while doing stuff like eating traditional food, watching culturally relevant movies and bitching about politics. However, I feel like the vast majority of people join such a thing because they care about the culture and traditions, which I don’t. Such communities strike me as a great solution for someone who moved out of their country and has a young child they’d like to immerse in the culture of their homeland. 

Or, I could go back to how I’ve always exercised my language and just call my family more often. It avoids the trouble of having to pay for classes and the anxiety of trying to spit out a coherent sentence to total strangers. This seems like the best of both worlds. Besides, calling back home seems like a broadly beneficial thing to do in multiple other aspects. You never know how many phone calls you have left before you’ll never be able to call home again.

Hubert Matuszewski is a blogger, sharing his experiences as a student. The opinions and views expressed here are his own and do not necessarily represent DUB's views.