Tongues and Walls

 

Tongues and Walls

(a reflection on language, belonging, and silence)

I went the extra mile to learn their language.
I learned it out of respect — and love, too.
But no matter how well I spoke it,
they built a wall between us.

And that is the wound I carry:
not the difficulty of grammar,
but the coldness that met my fluency.

To speak fluently and still be left outside —
it teaches you something painful.
Words can open doors,
but not every door is meant to be opened.
Some walls are invisible, yet solid as stone.

And yet, I know what I do when roles are reversed.

When someone from another place speaks my language,
when I see they’ve learned it to speak to me —
they become precious in my eyes.
Because I know what that journey takes.

My mother taught me:
“As many languages you speak, as many persons you are.”
And I’ve lived those lives,
with different voices in different tongues.

Learning a language is never just memorising words —
it’s imagining real moments where those words might live.
It’s falling a little in love with the people,
with the music of their sentences,
with something in their world.

That effort should be welcomed.
It should be met with kindness, not judgment.
Because to speak in another’s language
is to build a bridge — not to show off, but to belong.

And so, when someone makes the effort to speak my language,
I do not measure their accent.
I open my heart.