My Language World

Language, the ever-morphing, colossal structure of words, grammar, syntax, and pronunciation, inspires awe when considered from an impartial angle. The construction of a coherent, descriptive form of communication, rich with delicate connotations, innuendos, and nuances, is simply an unimaginably demanding task. For this reason, language has not, can not, and will not be built and finished. It must be drafted, then altered, redrafted, revised, modified, and edited for every infinitesimally small detail. The dead wood must be cut away to stimulate new growth. Ancient expressions are rendered obsolete to provide room for neologisms. The constant metamorphosis continues today and forevermore. But the maintenance of the language must be effectuated, realised by people. Thus, each and every speaker of any language actively participates in influencing the evolution of their tongue. From my formal verbal communication to the discriminatory effects of which I have heard, I intend to summarise and provide insight as to the effects language has had on me and the effects I have had on language. Accent, one of the subtlest qualities of language, has great power in social situations. Growing up, I was a quiet, obedient boy at school. This meant that the overwhelming majority of my speech was developed and practised at home. Naturally and inevitably, this led to a moderate Indian accent. When I arrived at UWC, I felt no shame at my manner of speaking, despite the marked difference in the speech that surrounded me. I made absolutely no conscious effort to alter or refine myself.

The only discernible change was a rapid acceleration in my volume of speaking. Nevertheless, my accent drastically converged to the norm in my four years here. This subconscious convergence, I believe, is predictable, especially when one considers the large increase in my quantity of speaking. The more one speaks, the more one converges, save for a situation in which powerful efforts towards the retention of the original are made. In my case, accent changed because of subtle yet deep differences between the voices that surrounded me and my own. However, people are not always as kind as students of UWC. When I was young, my mother once recounted an anecdote of her past working life involving accent and culture. Here, some background information is lacking. Her company, based in Japan, employed a large number of Indians, a quality of which the Japanese disapproved. Also, most Japanese are not the most fluent or proficient in English - some possess only the skill required to convey basic information. On this particular occasion, she was attending a party organised for the employees of the aforementioned company. My mother was chatting with one of her colleagues when the subject of English came up in their conversation.

In a vain attempt to be kind, my mother complimented her colleague on her English. The colleague quietly said, “Yes, I understand English, but not the English Indians speak. ” This sharp comment demonstrates the callousness to which accent can subject oneself. By no fault of her own, and in multiple different settings, my mother, and indeed many others, have been humiliated time and again in a similar fashion. The cause can be attributed to inherent cultural tensions, but it manifested itself by way of her accent. The formality of language is another attribute that can vary widely depending on social, cultural, and personal context. My idiolect, the individual, singular language that I speak, is incredibly formal. My tone and word choice differ little based upon the audience, and, as a result, must be mostly polite and courteous. On one instance, I was walking with a friend when we both realised that we had no idea where we were going. Upon becoming aware of this, I commented, “We are aimlessly wandering. ” at the same moment that they remarked, “We aren’t walking to anywhere. ” The example is one of the many moments when stark contrast has been placed on my idiosyncratic language. There are a couple of possible reasons for which my idiolect possesses such a strong, eccentric formal register at all times. The most likely theory that I have conceived is my spelling history. While studying for the annual spelling bee in Hong Kong, I acquired a vast database of words from the word lists. Needless to say, totally internalised memory was required to succeed. And to remember best, one must use the vocabulary one has gained. So I commenced to seek out every possible opportunity to refresh and strengthen my memory of these words.

After the first year, it became a habit. After the second, I grew obsessive. Currently, I put the same amount of thought into it as I do breathing. In conjunction with this questionable strategy, I had a friend in Hong Kong that would constantly blast me with alien, novel words. This friend, Timothy, was a source of new words with which to employ my memorisation technique. This combination of factors led to my language flourishing in terms of the breadth of adjectives and nouns. A more recent possible theory is my enthusiasm in the world of mathematics. Mathematicians have a requirement to be extremely exact when writing papers and books, as the terminology and jargon involved can be complex and particular. They also need to be brief, given that many papers can stretch on for hundreds of pages. Having read many such publications, I have adopted their articulate, concise style of writing in my verbal communication. The effect of this maintained formality is striking. Amongst those of my parents’ generation, it instills a sense of maturity and sophistication. This, of course, is desirable. In fact, it leads to more conversations and interaction between adults and I. This, in turn, further educates me. In the end, a cycle forms. Intellect begets intelligence. Amongst my contemporaries, however, feelings are mixed. Some are annoyed, feeling that my manner and speech is intended to present myself as aloof to their peasant-like matters, above such lowly discourse. What they comprehend not is the true intention. It is not a form of overt prestige, rather a method with which I can genuinely prosper. Other peers admire and respect my language, interpreting it as a sign of intelligence. Whilst I do not tailor myself for the admiration or impressions, I much prefer the second attitude to the first. In the past years, a fascinating situation has transpired within my clique of friends with relation to prestige. Slang and common words, traditionally regarded as covert prestige, have become the standard in our year group.

So we founded an exclusive culture of polished language that, due to its foreign otherworldliness and minimal use, has become regarded as a form of covert prestige among us - a way of setting us apart. I find it intriguing that, in environments where covert prestige has grown prevalent, covert and overt prestiges’ meanings can be inverted. They morph into one another. This illustrates that prestige, as such, is not an absolute idea so much as it is a relative one. Ergo, I suggest an amended definition. Covert prestige is the style of language which is uncommon in a given context. Overt prestige is the direct opposite. In conclusion, language is one of the most puissant elements of human existence. It reveals our identity, culture, and forces us to reflect upon and remember our past. It is not just a means to the end of drab information relaying. It is a mark of who we are. Language is not standard, just the opposite. It is diverse. Accent, vocabulary, grammar, all merging and amalgamating to form a unique perfect whole. It is in the diversity of each person’s language that pure magic lies. That is the true essence of human communication, of language. There, in its heart, we find beauty.