A non-Pinoy's experience with the Pinoy language
MANILA, Philippines - Ma’am, would you like to avail of our promo?” The cashier would ask me in (sometimes broken) English. I would smile politely and answer quietly “Ay, hindi na po. Salamat po.” She’d then do a double-take. Most times, she’d just share a knowing smile with her co-worker, but other times she’d exclaim “Ma’am nagtatagalog po pala kayo?”
It never fails to happen, whether I’m at a department store in a mall talking to a cashier, or at a tiangge talking to a saleslady, or even just on the street asking a random stranger for directions. It’s frustrating sometimes, but I suppose I can’t blame them, after all. Outside, they see someone who is more foreign than they are used to, with features that are unmistakeably South Asian. But when I speak, they are floored.
Yes, I am Indian from head to toe, but more than half my heart belongs to the Philippines. I speak fluent Filipino and understand it well, but people would be surprised to know that I cannot speak Hindi, or any Indian dialect for that matter though I understand the words my parents use at home.
Language is funny. It’s supposed to be something that draws people together, and the mark of their nationality, in a way. August is “Buwan ng Wika.” It’s a month where we’re basically supposed to commemorate the Filipino language. I’ve gone through more than a handful of these celebrations, wearing the Filipino costume at school while sharing native treats with my friends and classmates during our barrio fiesta.
As I grew older though, I began to wonder: am I part of that “us?” The Philippines is not my mother country, but it has been home to me since I was born. No matter how Filipino by the way I speak or act, I am always considered a foreigner wherever I go. Likewise, I am different in India because I cannot speak the language, and if I do, I speak in a different way. I know a lot of people who are like me, and I wonder if they feel the same way sometimes: like they are neither here nor there.
There have been many times where I am in a public place and strangers notice me. They then make crude jokes and comments about my nationality in Filipino, usually starting with “Bumbay, o!” It makes me feel like I’m some kind of freak show. I find this offensive, just as I suppose Filipinos would not appreciate being called maids by people from other countries. They assume that just because I look foreign, I do not understand the language. But I do, I understand every single word. Though I always try to ignore it, part of me sometimes wants to snap back at them and say “Bakit, hindi ka pa ba nakakakita ng taong hindi tulad mo?”
I appreciate that there are people who don’t mind that I am Indian but Filipino in many ways. I especially like it when people I meet see me as just a person, and do not define me by my nationality or citizenship.
The Filipino language is intoxicating. It’s beautiful and rich and deep. I appreciate it because it has allowed me to communicate and create lasting friendships with people. I consider myself lucky to have grown up in an environment which allowed me to appreciate the best of all cultures.
I do wish though, that as we celebrate “Buwan ng Wika,” we also celebrate language itself and how we use it. The fact that I am not Filipino doesn’t mean I love it less. I love the country that my parents come from, just as I love the home I’ve known all my life. I guess, in a world that’s breaking borders and mending fences each day, it’s okay for my heart to belong to two countries, even if I can speak the language of only one.
