a language thing

Perhaps it started when I was around 8 years old...

See, my father used to send tons of VHS tapes from the US of movies he recorded in HBO – yes, Tatay is the original pirate.

I remember one title vividly now as if reading it on the side of the tape, with Tatay’s neat hand-writing in blue square-tipped marker: Shinning Through.

I remember my siblings and I – all 6 of us – gathered around the balikbayan box, savoring the ‘smell of abroad, trapped inside’ the package, and laughing our asses off because of Tatay’s shenanigans.

“Diba Shining Through?” one of my sisters asked.

“Baka The Shinning!” another countered.

“Gago, The Shining yun!” another said.

“Meron bang word na ‘shinning’?” somebody asked.

And every time a box-full of goodies from Tatay would arrive, we would always poke around for the VHS tapes first – just for kicks, I suppose.

Another sample title: Nightmare on St. Elmo’s Street.

You get my point, right? Jimmy Santos step aside.

Oh, but I love my Tatay so!

I never did care that he couldn’t spell. Or couldn’t get movie titles right.

More than the language thing, it’s a heart thing.

L-O-V-E is never spelled with words, really.

It’s beyond grammar.

Still, I grew conscious of the ‘significance’ of language skill.

English language skill, that is.

Communication and communicating well became my thing.

I believe I was the youngest proofreader.

Yes, shallow as it may seem, growing up, I’ve frowned at ‘potential’ crushes, or boyfriends who did not have a good grasp of the English language.

I would always prefer an ‘Inglesero.’

It’s top three on my list of ‘must-haves in a guy’ – just after ‘good teeth and ‘nice breath’ (synonymous, in my book); and ‘nice eyes.’

And now, as if fate is taunting me, I’m dating a guy who doesn’t know the difference between ‘P’ and ‘B’.

He doesn’t recognize ‘P’. Beriod.

And as much as he acknowledges that the English language is important, especially in an international commercial hub like Dubai, it doesn’t acknowledge him back.

The Syrian guy is worse than Jimmy Santos.

And being part of a race that places too high a regard on ‘speaking correct English,’ I don’t take it too well that my so-called boyfriend has ELDS (English Language Deficiency Syndrome).

“Can you carry these for me, please?” I asked him one time, handing out paper bags to him.

“Of course, habibi, I care for you!”

“I said CARRY – what the fuck are you talking about?!”

“Oh, ok.”

I’m such an ass.

After looking at his face, all red and mortified, I wanted to kick myself.

The man just said he cares for me, and sincerely so, too, and what do I do?

Shout and say ‘fuck’.

Nice going.

But more than anything, I felt like a fool.

When did I ever equate having correct grammar to being intellectual?

And every day, I’m astounded at how much I don’t know about the world.

And I learn it all from him – the Syrian guy who speaks worse English than Jimmy Santos.

When did I become such a snob?

Then I recall all those times I laughed at Melanie Marquez, Erap, and basically anybody who fumbles at speaking English, and think – oh, who am I kidding? – it still sounds funny!

“Habibi, sometimes you are ‘nose up’.”

This, after I laughed so hard when he told me I’m beautiful…

Especially now that my hair “is growing up.”

But no longer do I think I’m better.

Or smarter.

Because I’m SO not.

“I deduct this song to you, Lachelle.”

How sweet.

I wonder if it will come out in my pay slip.