YOURS

The security guard of my apartment's building barely knows English. When I come home at night, we ask each other how we are in a mixture of attempted terrible Cantonese by yours truly, convoluted English from guard whose name I still don't know as I don't know how to ask him his name (yet!), and a lot of sign language that would put Helen Keller to shame.

We've progressed to being able to figure out how to ask each other if I've had dinner and if I've just gotten back from a run. But most nights, we good naturedly laugh at how we cannot understand each other and bid each other goodbye when the elevator finally reaches the lobby.

My interaction with him paints a picture of how most of my outside-of-work conversations go, only most of them are much less pleasant. Hint: not much laughter, a lot of deadpan expressions, if not outright exasperation at the difficulty of communication.

In my 5-month stay in Hong Kong, I have only learned Cantonese for the following:

1) Good morning
2) Getting the tab in the restaurant
3) Thank you and excuse me (they use the same term)
4) Whether I want iced lemon tea or iced milk tea
5) Ask for a takeaway box in the restaurant (sign language required)

80% of the time outside work, I am responding to things I don't completely understand. A colleague, who is also a foreigner in Hong Kong, and I agreed that "yes" is a better response to these things than "no."

Cashier lady speaks to me. I nod my head. I suddenly have a shopping bag (shopping bags are paid for here). I nod my head, give a thumbs up to a waitress and I get more tea.

I am quite comfortable with English but my joy is inexplicable when I get to use Filipino, Tagalog and Bisaya. When I start saying something in Tagalog or Bisaya and I have to stop and revert to English, I feel a gut-wrenching pang in my stomach.

It is the most constant reminder that I am in a foreign country.

The language barrier tells me that I am somewhere most do not understand my mother tongue, the language I can truly communicate with. Here, I am not thoroughly understood. Even speaking to native English-speakers provides me with that barrier because the nuances of our spoken English evades them. Theirs evade me, too. Different cultures, different history of the language.

As such, my self-expression is terribly limited and if I were to be brutally honest (and, yes, a bit dramatic), the restriction induces this feeling that something in me died. There will always be an invisible wall between myself and these foreigners constantly surrounding me. I will never be able to fully describe kare-kare to my teammates, and I will not be able to explain a bunch of other Filipino things because a lot of them evade any attempt at translation.

I will also not be as funny to them. Not ever. I mean, they say a foodplace in Manila is called Keanu Ribs. Guess what they serve? There's also Libing Things, Harry Pata, and Kini Rogers Lechon Manok. There are a bunch of other Pinoy humor-centric stuff that I cannot share with them and so I have to stifle my laughter till tears come out of my eyes. I do believe I have established myself as the office weirdo.

I will also never be able to tell them exactly how sad/happy/excited I am or why. Neither will they grasp the importance of the upcoming elections and exactly how things are in the Philippines: the good, the bad and the absolute beauty of it.

Perhaps I am only mourning what I miss and I would not be doing so if I have not known the luxury of being able to use Filipino like it was an extension of myself.

But I recall the times people attempt to speak your language which is completely alien to them. Recall the times you tried to use a foreign language to its native speakers. Weren't you excited to hear them learn it? Weren't they excited to hear you try to use theirs?

That is how language affects people.

The cliche said of the Philippines is becoming real for me. What I miss most from my country is the warmth of its people (my statement already considers the con artists and corrupt officials of our country, they are a minority). And this warmth and our kinship with each other are very much reflected in our language and our use of it.

And this is the case I make for the Filipino language and owning your mother tongue. Often, we get so preoccupied with getting English right that we forget to practice that native language (apparent in generations of kids who struggle with the language) -- the language that's an integral part of our identity as Filipinos who spent/still spending many years in the Philippines. Master it. Embrace it. It is a gift that keeps on giving, one that will allow you a strong hold on who you are.