{"id":1774,"date":"2026-06-04T09:54:00","date_gmt":"2026-06-04T16:54:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/quesejoda.com\/blog\/?p=1774"},"modified":"2026-06-05T01:01:12","modified_gmt":"2026-06-05T08:01:12","slug":"my-new-years-resolution-speak-less-catalan","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/quesejoda.com\/blog\/my-new-years-resolution-speak-less-catalan\/","title":{"rendered":"My new year’s resolution: speak less Catalan"},"content":{"rendered":"

The problem with being reasonably good with languages is that you immerse yourself so much, that little by little you lose track of who you are. I’ve done this at least twice in my life: first with English and then with Catalan. The prime example is that I can’t write worth shit in Spanish and this blog is in English. I didn’t realize all this until late in life, but some people take on different personas depending on the language they’re currently speaking: apparently I’m one of these. It happened subtly at first, probably when we moved for the 3rd time in my life to the US. The jokes I had become used to telling weren’t funny translated. For that matter, the entire laid-back humor I was used to when I left Puerto Rico was totally alien in Michigan where it was a bit drier, and full of sarcasm. I slowly changed accents, demeanors, and jokes, but I never realized it until I came back to the island a decade later, and folks just didn’t get me. Maybe my humor’s just shit, and I should’ve just accepted it ;-).<\/p>\n

When I met Alba she thought it was a nice party trick to hear me speak in English. She thought I sounded like Obama, hand gestures and all, but it was just a different way of communicating. She says she doesn’t like me in English\u2013 that I sound pompous and arrogant and far too sure of myself. On the other hand, we’ve agreed that I would speak to our kids in English, because it’s not just the words that convey a language, but the gestures, and the assertiveness, and the kindness, and an assortment of other things that get lost in translation. She rightly pointed out that it’s not enough to know the words in a language, but how you say them, and apparently I have that unconsciously when I speak in English and to some extent in any of the other languages I stumble through on a regular basis: Catalan and Spanish. She would hate for our kids to learn English at school, without the unspoken parts of communication that only come with years of immersion, something which they’re unlikely to get entirely, but it’s worth a shot. It’s also cheaper than sending them to private school :).<\/p>\n

I remember in high school trying so hard to get the nuance, the cadence, and the gestures right. Fitting in during adolescence was hard enough, without the added burden of language skills, but so was life. I got quite good at it, but unbeknownst to me, a part of me slowly receded into the background, and had it not been because I returned to Puerto Rico for a decade, I would’ve lost it forever.<\/p>\n

Now living away from both places where I grew up, I run into that precipice again. Even though I’ve tried to not lose myself this time, it happens so gradually that you never quite see it. After 10 years of stumbling on and off with Catalan, I feel like the part of me I’m about to lose yet again, is that island boy who drags his s’s and slurs his r’s. And part of it has been conscious, I mean, language is a huge thing in Catalonia, and I have been trying to fit in. After all, my parents taught me from a young age that it doesn’t matter how badly you speak a language, you make an effort, because when you speak someone’s emotional<\/b> language (that one they’re more likely to use when the curtains are drawn: the one you use to count, or swear), your heartstrings vibrate in unison with the other person and they love you for it. Sounds cheesy, but it’s true. That’s why it irks everyone abroad when Americans insist on saying “hello” and the French on “bonjour” to everyone, regardless of where they’re at.<\/p>\n

My dad once told me\u2026 remember Ms. McDonald growing up? She had the world’s worst Spanish accent, even after having lived in PR for 60 years, but she refused to fall back on English, even if she knew many around her spoke it fluently. She made an effort, and we adored her for it. But I’m pretty sure she lost part of herself in it.<\/p>\n

So after 10 years, I think I’m ok at all three languages. I have worked all my life in English. And with Catalan, I can speak to pediatricians, negotiate house prices, and get into heated political debates. I still sound like an idiot, but I don’t feel like I’m at a loss anymore. I’m in no danger of losing either of these. But being so far away from el pegao, la yuca, y el mofongo, living in Girona I feel like I’m in danger of losing the only language I rarely use. This somber realization came down on me when I finally accepted that I’m unlikely to ever go back to that tiny island so dear to my heart\u2013 my kids are Catalan, their extended family are here, and my parents retired to Florida. It would take an act of war (or nature) for me to permanently relocate back.<\/p>\n

So my year’s resolution is to speak less Catalan. There, I said it! I mean, not less Catalan to those whose emotional language is Catalan, but to all other immigrants whose first language is Spanish (or English), and who are in the same process of losing themselves. Cause we all appreciate when someone speaks our<\/b> emotional language. I’m not one to be militant about Catalan with some Honduran who would clearly prefer to speak in the language he speaks with his mom, any more than I was in a position to do so with the Mexican waitress in my favorite restaurant in California (who clearly had a horrible time explaining things in English\u2014 and belated apologies for not being kinder back then).<\/p>\n

My self-imposed guidelines are as follows:<\/p>\n