麻豆

鈥淎t the Word's Crossroads鈥�

By Sarah Henderson

Have you ever found yourself stuck at a crossroad, unsure of which culture to take on or which language to speak? Have you ever thought about how your words affect your personal identity? Growing up trilingual, I have often found myself thinking this way, knowing each language held a distinct aspect of the person I have become. My first language was English; I heard it in bedtime stories and family discussions. It was a language of familiarity and comfort. When I started school, learning French helped me connect with new people and perspectives. Many years later, I added Spanish, which forced me to start over with new words, accents, and definitions. With every language learnt, it brought different expectations, culture and meaning. I have often found that balancing the three languages was like living three different lives. On some days, it was exhilarating, like having the keys to a secret world where few people could enter. On other days, it was so overwhelming that I didn’t know where I fit in and who I was. Throughout my journey with my languages, it has taught me that literacy is key to understanding myself, blending various cultural perspectives and connecting with others.

Some of the first moments I remember are filled with my family at home speaking my first language, English. This was the language I grew up around, hearing stories and how I learned right from wrong. I will always remember my mom reading my sisters and I books at night like Goodnight Moon as we curled up under a blanket next to her. 聽My mother would read in her calm, soothing voice which felt like she was giving us a big hug: “Goodnight stars, goodnight air, goodnight noises everywhere.” As she approached the last sentence, we would start begging her “Again! Again!” as we pulled on her sleeve. She would quietly laugh to herself as she flipped back to the beginning and started over again. Back then, these stories felt magical and were always a comfort like no other.

As I entered kindergarten, I was in the very slow process of learning how to read. I remember coming home from school determined to learn how to read; I would be sitting cross-legged on the carpet of my room with The Very Hungry Caterpillar in front of me. 聽My dad would lean over me pointing to the next sentence as I stammered to mouth out the next word, “Caaa鈥�ter鈥�pill鈥�ar.” I got stuck. As usual, my dad said in an encouraging voice, “You’ve almost got it!” Finally, the word made sense, and I did get it, feeling like I finally solved a puzzle no one else could. From then on, nothing stopped me; every new book was just another thing waiting for me to explore.

Now that I’d learned to read came the tricky part鈥�learning to write. While in first grade my teacher, Miss Gauthier, asked us to write our own stories. As I listened to the sound of thirty kids scribbling down their ideas, I stared at my blank paper with nothing to write. All I wanted was for this story to be perfect, but all I could think of was the smell of pencil shavings that filled the room, and how I wanted to go home to see my dog. So, I went with it and wrote about my dog who wanted to fly. Her name was Lily, and she built her wings out of pencil shavings. When I turned in the story, I anxiously waited as my teacher marked it up with her bright red pen. She underlined my run on sentences and circled “fligh” where I had forgotten the “t”. But through all my grammar mistakes she wrote in cursive: “You are a storyteller. Don’t give up.” I couldn’t stop staring at those words, my cheeks warm with pride. For the first time, I found writing not to be homework, but a way of sharing pieces of me with others. Looking back, I see that even very early moments in my life were important for more than just learning about the basics of literacy. They helped me to discover my identity. Reading gave me the ability to enter other worlds and writing allowed me to create those worlds. Already literacy was turning into a mirror where I could see my reflection of who I was becoming.

By the time I got to middle school, English was becoming easy, but French was a completely different story. As I entered my sixth-grade classroom excited, I saw each desk was placed with a small glossy. The first sentence I had to read was simple: “Bonjour, je m’appelle Sarah.” I struggled over each syllable as I muttered it under my breath. I felt awkward with no rhythm like I was trying to dance for the first time. My teacher came up to me, wrapping her arm around me. “It’s okay. Try it again. Bon-jooor, je m’appelle鈥�” my teacher said exaggerating each syllable. I tried again, “Bon鈥�juh鈥� but before I could finish, I could hear my classmates giggling as my face turned redder than a tomato. She comforted me quickly saying, “French is more than just a few new words, so don’t worry. It is a completely new way of hearing and seeing.” For the next couple of weeks, I found French impossible, and I struggled. But then, we read Le Petit Prince. 聽The book included simple drawings of this boy on his planet looking up at the stars. I found it difficult to understand the language on the page, but with the help of English translation and the drawings I slowly put things together. As we read as a class, I read : On ne voit bien qu’avec le coeur. L’essentiel est invisible pour les yeux.” My teacher paused and smiled, “does anybody know what that means?” she asked. I was hesitant but then translated, “It means鈥� What matters most is invisible to the eyes.” I don’t know how, but French started to click. I understood that this language isn’t just about doing endless writing drills but seeing the world with a new perspective. I finally saw that literacy might change the way I see the world and lead to endless new opportunities.

I found out speaking a little French is challenging, but I had no idea that writing it was far more difficult. The class was assigned to write a small paragraph about what we like to do for fun. For what felt like eternity, I was once again staring at my blank page with a racing heart, unsure of how or where to start. All I could think of was that if it was in English, I could easily fill the page. However, I only knew a few phrases in French: “Je suis鈥�J’aime鈥�le parc鈥�” After my teacher noticed I had still written nothing, she nudged me and said, “Try writing this in English then translate what you can after”. I immediately picked up my pencil and scribbled down half a page in no time. I wrote: “I love to eat ice cream with my friends and go on walks with my dog.” Without hesitation, I translated this into French : “J’aime manger du cr猫me glace avec mes amies and faire des promenades avec mon chien. I didn’t know where to put the verb and I’m sure some of my accents leaned the wrong way, but that didn’t matter because I just wrote my first full sentence in French with no help. As I read it to the class, my voice shook, but I saw a girl sitting in the back who is now one of my closest friends nodding her head in agreement. I will never forget that moment. I am now able to communicate with not only other French speakers but a wider community. I started to realize that French was more than communication but a way of building bridges to connect with others. I believe that for the first time middle school French pushed me out of my comfort zone with literacy. I came to realize that language carries so much including culture, history, and imagination.

I had finally reached grade nine; the point where I thought I had everything figured out. My English was as strong as ever and French was starting to become a very stable second language, but then Spanish came into play and once again I was starting over. At first the three clashed in my mind like three voices all fighting to be heard. On the first day of Spanish class, I was excited because now I could finally understand the locals on family vacations, communicate with others easier, and be uniquely trilingual. My Spanish teacher, Mr. Vargas, walked into the class and said in a cheerful way, “Buenos d铆as, clase!” Without thinking I responded with “Bonjour Monsieur.” My face started to heat as the entire room burst into laughter. My teacher raised an eyebrow and said in a joking way, “Wrong romance language.” Then more seriously said, “That’s ok, trying to learn three languages at once is like learning to swim in three different oceans. The waves will collide together sometimes.” He was right. As the semester continued, I kept mixing up French and Spanish accidently slipping “驴c贸mo est谩s?” into French class and “merci” at the end of my Spanish homework. But as time passed this confusion turned into a realization; I was starting to think differently in each language slowly opening new parts of my brain.

In French class, we read boring excerpts from classic literature that was intellectual, refined, and well written. While in my Spanish class, I discovered something completely new, magic realism. The first time I picked up the novel Cien a帽os de soledad (in a condensed form) I was amazed with the imagery. Colorful butterflies filled the sky, rain continued for years, and a village that couldn’t remember anything. These stories didn’t just tell me about the culture; I was invited to join them. At one point, I remember stopping myself and muttering “驴C贸mo puede ser esto real?” (How can this be real?) This was the moment that I realized Spanish literature and reality were linked together. I was able to learn a new language and a new perspective of the world through those words.

High school quickly turned into a juggling act. One night, I had three projects: a short response to a Spanish paragraph, a French Study of poetry and an English literacy essay on To Kill a Mockingbird. My desk was filled with notebooks; each page filled with scribbles of different languages. My head felt like it was going to explode at this moment. As difficult as it was, I enjoyed this challenge and pushed through. In the following weeks there was a Spanish dialogue assignment we had to do. Sitting in the library, my partner and I practicing our lines, “驴C贸mo est谩s?” I asked, in a shaking voice. “Estoy bien, gracias. 驴Y t煤?” she replied. We repeated lines until they flowed smoothly, laughing when we made mistakes. The day of the performance came, and I was nervous as ever, but as soon as I started speaking all the stress left my body. As I was performing with ease and the class clapping at the end, I realized how much I had improved. The words that were once unknown and confusing to me are now part of me.

Later, I had to write in Spanish about comparing my family traditions during the holiday with those we had studied. Although it was more difficult than I ever expected, writing about my own life in a different language opened my eyes. Writing in Spanish about my family’s Christmas dinner helped me to notice things I had always missed, like the way we sung carols together and the scent of cinnamon in the kitchen. From describing my Christmas through a different perspective, I could see my traditions differently. My journey with Spanish has been incredible, as it has really shown me what it means to start over with a new language. Spanish has given me the confidence to write in any language without second guessing everything and reaching for a dictionary as well as connecting me to other students and teachers.

By the time I reached graduation, I could feel how each language has changed me. English was my foundation where I could find my innermost self. French let me see a world where words had beauty as well as meaning. Finally Spanish opened a new world of imagery filled with rhythm and emotion. Reading and writing in all these languages, I feel like I was completing a full version of myself, one who could easily switch between worlds and connect with others in a way my childhood self could never imagine.

I can see where my literacy has led me when I look back, knowing it is more than just reading and writing. From the comfort of bedtime stories in English to the difficult times of writing a full paragraph in French to the excitement of learning magical realism in Spanish; literacy has been like a map leading me through countries and towards others. At the beginning, English allowed me to understand myself; I could see who I was becoming through the books I read as kid. Through French, I gained knowledge of how to navigate different points of view and see the world through a different imagination and rhythm. In addition, Spanish allowed me to discover new ways to interact and how language can be the bridge to appreciate the beauty of other traditions and my own.

It has been messy sometimes; often mispronouncing words, mixing up languages and making grammatical mistakes. However, literacy has given me more than the ability to communicate; it has made me more aware of the way languages shape and enrich our identity. As my Spanish teacher once said to me, I no longer think of my trilingual mind as "three oceans crashing together." Instead, I see it as three rivers connecting into a large current. I can keep swimming through that current because of my literacy. From every book read and every essay written, I am reminded of the lesson my journey has taught me: literacy is the key to understanding myself, navigating multiple cultural perspectives, and connecting with others.

Works Cited

Christine. “Multilingualism in Children: How Many Languages Should They Learn?” Medium, 16 Mar. 2023. Accessed 6 Nov. 2025.聽

Cien A帽os de Soledad (50 Aniversario) / One Hundred Years of Solitude. Accessed 6 Nov. 2025.

Goodnight, Moon. Accessed 6 Nov. 2025.

Le Petit Prince. Accessed 6 Nov. 2025.

The Very Hungry Caterpillar. Accessed 6 Nov. 2025.

To Kill a Mockingbird. Accessed 6 Nov. 2025.