When I was a kid, I'm told that I could speak Telugu, which is the language of both sides of my family. As I grew older in America and went to school, I lost my touch. Though I could still understand others when they spoke, I couldn't do so myself. I became unable to say even basic phrases, and eventually, my abilities in the speaking realm dwindled down to little beyond nothingness.
At school, all my friends spoke English. And so would I, to the point that Telugu almost seemed foreign in my mouth. English was easier and made more sense. English was predominant, so I conformed.
Growing older, I regret losing that aspect of my culture. I regret not trying harder to maintain and grow my proficiency. Language is such an important part of one's identity and culture, and to not have that is saddening.
Whenever I visit India and meet my lovely grandparents, there's always somewhat of a language barrier. The words that properly express my emotions and thoughts may not be understood by them, and vice versa. And to think that our communication may not be an accurate testament of our thoughts is terrifying, like there'll always be this wall between us, one that I wish I could bridge.
And so, rather than wallow in my past mistakes and wish that I had made different choices, I've taken somewhat of an initiative. Though I may never fully be able to speak Telugu fluently again, I've tried with a different language: Hindi.
I want to preserve my culture in my mind. I never want to drift away from my background. I've made an effort to understand (and hopefully, one day, be able to fluently speak), Hindi, to serve as a connecting bridge between the country of my birth and the country of my family.
Though I know I may never rise to the ranks of native speakers, I want to be able to pass on my culture to future generations, to be able to show them that their history is far more rich than they could have imagined.
Language connects, strengthens, and livens life. It is worth preserving.