English and Me

I'm beginning to believe I have a karmic tie with the English language. The first knot was made via the historical route. The Philippines, after being a colony of Spain for more than 300 years was sold to America at the turn of the 19th century. The country, although very small and scattered (made up of around 7, 100 islands and islets), is strategically located in the Pacific which explains the imperialistic interest. Therefore, after a mock war in Manila Bay (which the Americans won, of course), the new batch of white people arrived in the country as supposed redeemers of the archipelago. The Americans then took over governance and eventually overhauled the educational system set up by the Spaniards. In the early 1900's, the first American teachers known as the Thomasites (they sailed via a ship named Thomas) arrived and set up the first English classes in the country. By the time I was ready for school, Filipino teachers had been the ones running all the classes and persuading young children to say, “A is for apple” although we had more B (bananas) than those imported, thus expensive Apples.

Hence, we read, wrote, listened to and spoke English in school. We sang songs in English, too. Mass media was peppered with English writings and programs. But during my first four years in elementary school, I used the language in any way I wanted, unmindful of any grammar rule. If it sounded like English, then it was alright. Or so I thought, until a very strict teacher in the person of Miss Baes invaded my carefree world on the fifth grade. She was fierce in her mission to twist our tongues, increase our vocabulary and cure our sick grammar. I hardly had any time to play because there were books to read, words to collect, stories to summarize, essays, poems, haikus, even limericks to write. In the classroom, we had to speak English or fork out 5 cents for every Tagalog word we uttered. We were always on our feet because any time, she might ask us to come forward and launch a conversation in English with another unfortunate classmate who also happened to be daydreaming in class. Those were nerve-racking days from my childhood. But by sheer obedience, I survived.

Now I look back at those days with appreciation instead of dread. The improved knowledge and fluency in the language courtesy of those two years presented me exciting opportunities like being student English teacher for a day in high school. Years later, it allowed me to do work I never imagined existed. I was being asked to train kids for various English recitation competitions. My romance with the language thus began. I eventually became a real English teacher although there was no plan of ever becoming one.

Today, as a new migrant in Australia, I have found myself forever bound to the language now. My mind's wrestling with more and more vocabulary while my tongue's being curled and coiled by new sounds and accents each day. Now I have even rediscovered writing in it. The romance continues. I should write Miss Baes a letter soon…in Tagalog? ?