Language and Literary Narrative

        If you are from one of the “Stan” countries, you are familiar with both the languages and cultures of the other six Stan nations. There is always that one person who always wonder, “What do you call Stan countries? “, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to add a quick definition from Google here. Kazakhstan, Tajikistan, Uzbekistan, Kyrgyzstan, Turkmenistan, Afghanistan, and Pakistan are the seven nations in Central Asia whose names end in “stan.” The suffix “stan” means “the land.” Now that the person reading my essay is aware of the precise definition of “Stan,” I feel more comfortable to continue with my story. Before moving to New York City, one of the world’s most multicultural cities, I was unaware of how much the Stan countries have in common. Or how language can help us connect with people, and how its somehow part of our identity.

         It was my first of school in a brand-new country and school. I wasn’t sure what to anticipate. I certainly had no idea how the educational system here operates. I was asked to introduce myself to my classmates in my first class of the day. My heartbeat was racing as I got up to walk to the front of the class, but my mind was preoccupied with the few words I knew and how to connect them to form a sentence that is comprehensive. Someone once told me, “You can conceal every emotion behind a beautiful smile.” I made it my mission to conceal my anxiety, uncertainty, despair, and other negative emotions behind my smile in light of that saying. Would you be astonished if I said, it worked for one minute? After a minute, the only sound I could hear was my heart pounding in my ears, the only sensation I had was heat leaving my body, and the only thing I could see were student judges who were prepared to accept or reject me based on what I would say. The phony smile was replaced by anxiety and a fear of not being accepted by new classmates. In a shaky tone, I said “hello, I no speak English.” Although I knew other simple words, I could not bring myself to spit out a word. There was a moment of silence after that sentence. It felt like everyone was expecting me to continue speaking with my poor English, which I did not want to do. I preferred staying quiet instead of feeling embarrassed further. “Uzbekmisan? “, a girl yelled from the back. I was so thrilled to hear from someone else like me who spoke my language and understood what it meant to be Uzbek that I answered swiftly and with such excitement, “Ha!” Then, the girl started talking to me in a weird Uzbek accent from the back of the room confidently. In our eyes, the whole class disappeared, and it was just the two of us having a conversation. Meanwhile, everyone else would turn their head to look at me then back to her. “Xijolat bo’lma, men senga tarjima qilishda yordam bera olaman, nima deyishni xoxlaysan? said Shakhlo. “Men Azizaman va bu mening Amerikada 2-kunim. Men jismoniy faoliyatni va shoularni tomosha qilishni yaxshi ko’raman.” She had a different accent than me, but I didn’t pay it any mind because I assumed she had been here too long to retain her native accent. After we were done conversing, she introduced me to the class based on what I told her about myself, and explained to the class how I’m new here, how language barrier is a real deal when you move to the USA, etc. And I walked back to my seat at an amazingly fast speed. You know when you’re desperately searching for a bathroom, and you finally find one and start walking there as soon as possible as if the bathroom is going to disappear before you even get there? It was that kind of feeling. Once I sat down, that quick conversation with her erased most of my pessimistic thoughts about being friendless for the rest of the school year because I don’t speak their language, nor I do look like them. In fact, I felt like I could find a sense of belonging here and that I will fit in. Maybe not “fit in” because we are all unique individuals with a unique experience, but you get what I mean, right? To be specific, the way Shahlo spoke Uzbek, the way Johnny smiled at me although he didn’t understand or know me, the way Elizabeth flickered her foot just like I do, etc. All of these made me realize we are more alike than different.

        From then on, Shahlo translated and assisted me class in class whenever I needed help. She was the intermediate person between me and anyone who doesn’t speak Uzbek. Just like Shamans connected spirits with the people, she helped me connect with people. I would always make a joke about how she’s working for a wage she will receive from me once I grow up to be a millionaire. Yeah, yeah like everyone else I wanted to be a millionaire and quite frankly I still do.  Finally, one day I had the courage to ask her why her accent is different than mine. She laughed at me as if she just met the world’s top comedian, and told me she was Kazakh, a not an Uzbek girl with an odd accent. Cultural diffusion was just another historical term to me until that day.

        Language is a powerful and extraordinary weapon if only you can utilize it the right way. The power to make you insecure, or sad, or make you happy, and confident can happen by listening to someone utter a single word. She said nothing that didn’t make me feel at ease. There were times when we could communicate simply by looking at one another.  But the most important power of all is that language can unify or divide us. In my case at least, it unified two girls from the “stan” countries. With that one simple question, she asked me beginning of the class, we became best friends forever. And I would not hesitate for a second to call her my sister. We should all be kind to one another through the words we use because people will remember them for a very long time, just as I will always be grateful to Shahlo for her help and support.