By Evan Perez

At the age of 2 years old, I went mute. From constantly babbling and trying to pronounce words to being completely silent, I had caused great concern to my parents. Confused and worried, they did what any reasonable couple would do, they booked an appointment with the doctor. At the end of my doctor’s visit, it was presumed that I may have been on the autistic spectrum as my frustration with learning new words was made apparent by my habits such as banging my head against the wall. It was later determined that I was confused about what language to speak: English or Spanish. Every day, my parents dropped me off at my grandmother’s house, where I would spend the entire day until getting picked up to go back home with my parents. The problem was that during the day at my grandmother’s house, my grandmother mostly spoke to me in Spanish, teaching me basic words throughout the day, every day. When I went back home, my parents would only speak to me in English, teaching me basic words and sitting me down to watch movies in English, every night. After this observation was made, my parents were told by the doctor to only stick to one language when speaking to me, in which they chose to speak to me in English for the rest of my upbringing. Fast forward many years later, Spanish is a blaring weakness of mine.

Throughout my life, I was always avoidant of situations that might have presented the opportunity for me to speak Spanish such as meeting friends or family members who only spoke Spanish and even avoiding hanging out with other Hispanic kids sometimes. I felt disconnected from my culture and to this day, I am still shamed by people when they learn of my lack of knowledge in Spanish. “How disappointing.” some would say after eagerly meeting me for the first time. “What’s the matter with you?” others would question. I struggled to learn the language as it wasn’t necessary for me, but I still had the desire to learn. I’ve always been surrounded by my culture at home with music, food, and tradition, but I still felt excluded. I had taken a Spanish course in high school and college so my Spanish speaking had improved, but it was still basic and I kept my Spanish-speaking practices hidden from others to avoid being singled out and made fun of. For the longest time, a part of me didn’t want anything to do with my culture. 

However, during the summer of 2021, my grandmother and aunt made a trip to San Pedro Sula, Honduras, where everyone on my mom’s side of the family was from. I was invited to go explore the country, but more importantly, meet my family that still lives in Honduras. I accepted, not wanting to miss the chance to visit another country and connect with family members, however, I was concerned about how I would be received by others and how I would even navigate my way around with the minimal Spanish I knew. Not only was my Spanish minimal, but my grandmother’s and aunt’s English were also not that great. 

Arriving in Honduras alone, I was met with a great big family, at least 20 people were waiting to greet their American family member in their home country. Introducing myself and trying to make small talk to get to know everyone was a struggle, but I was met with smiling faces, cheerful laughs, and genuine love. My cousins, uncles, aunts, and great-grandfather gave me a special tour of our beautiful country. From hiking through lush green plants and gargantuan palm trees up to a refreshing coconut bar, riding to the beach on the back of a pickup truck through the mountains and shady palm forests for 4 hours, exploring the dirt roads and alleyways in the neighborhood that my family lives in, and drinking fresh, cold sugar cane juice out of a bag beneath the scorching sun, I was experiencing a side of the country that was real and not the fancy facade of a touristy destination. As time went on and with the encouragement from my family, I found myself speaking fully in Spanish to my family. I was not only communicating in Spanish, but I realized I was thinking in Spanish. Basic words became phrases and phrases became thought-out responses and conversations all in Spanish, coming from my mouth. I was so proud, even if my communication was still not fluent, I was actually speaking and thinking about the world around me in Spanish, something I didn’t imagine myself doing so suddenly and easily. As if an itch in my brain was being scratched, I felt immense joy in being able to talk to the people around me and communicate my thoughts in Spanish, but above all, I didn’t feel alienated from my culture anymore.

There was an exact moment when I realized what I had been doing. I had just finished kayaking in a massive blue lake with my cousins and I had wanted to get a Hispanic version of shaved ice (nieve) from a nearby stand. As I got my cup of shaved ice, one of my family members who had been waiting to meet me had arrived at the lake. I greeted her and started talking to her in Spanish and with a surprised expression she looked at me and said, “Dude, you know I speak English, right?”