By Zaynah Almasri
Power of Language Week invites us to celebrate bilingualism, multilingualism, second language
acquisition, and the linguistic and cultural diversity that shapes the Wesleyan community. For
me, that celebration is deeply personal. My relationship with language isn’t a neat timeline—it’s
a layered, overlapping, sometimes messy story of sounds, scripts, and social worlds that have
followed me across countries and classrooms.
My first language was German, spoken at home with my mother. It was the language of comfort
and routine, of everyday affection. Outside our front door, however, everything seemed different.
I attended an English-speaking school in Morocco, where English quickly became the language
of academics, friendships, and self-expression in public spaces. Early on, I learned what many
multilingual kids learn instinctively: language choice is never neutral. It signals belonging,
intimacy, and sometimes distance.
In elementary school, I began learning Classical Arabic. It felt formal and structured—beautifully
challenging, but far removed from the Arabic I heard on the streets. Later, in fifth grade, French
entered the mix, adding another layer to my daily life and another register to navigate. And then
there was Moroccan Darija, which I didn’t learn from textbooks or classrooms, but from
friends—through jokes, teasing, music, and shared experiences. While I gradually began to
understand content, it took me 12 years to have the confidence to speak it without being shy.
Darija was the language that taught me how fluency can come from relationships rather than
rules and that not everything has to be perfect.
By the time I arrived at Wesleyan, I was already used to carrying multiple languages at once,
but that didn’t mean the learning stopped. Alongside my French Minor credits, I began studying
Spanish here and have continued for three semesters. Learning Spanish in a classroom
setting—after years of acquiring languages more organically—has been humbling in a new way.
It has reminded me that even when you’re “good at languages,” starting from scratch still
requires patience, vulnerability, and the willingness to sound imperfect.
Last semester, I took a Hindi/Urdu class, motivated less by academic requirements and more by
curiosity and connection. I wanted to be able to joke with my close Pakistani friends in their
language, as well as understand their cultural references and linguistic worlds. That experience
reinforced something I’ve come to believe strongly: language learning is an act of care. It’s a
way of saying, “I want to meet you where you are.”
The benefits of multilingualism are often the first thing I hear when people find out that I’m
multilingual, it’s all about cognitive flexibility, cultural competence, broader career opportunities.
And yes, those are real. But for me, the most meaningful advantages are social and emotional.
Languages have given me multiple entry points into communities and their cultures. They’ve
allowed me to feel at home in more than one place and to understand that identity isn’t singular.
I don’t have one “true” linguistic self; I have many, and each one brings out something slightly
different in me.
At the same time, multilingualism comes with challenges that aren’t always visible. There’s the
slight doubt of not being completely at home or native anywhere. There are moments of
frustration—when I can understand everything but can’t quite find the right words to respond, or
when my accent gives me away before I’ve even spoken a full sentence. After a long day the
labor of switching codes, of adjusting how I speak depending on who I’m with and where I am, can take a toll on my energy. Sometimes, having many languages means not feeling fully fluent
in any single one. It can mean translating yourself; your thoughts, your humor, your emotions,
over and over again. It can also mean realizing that some things simply don’t translate at all.
Power of Language Week matters because it makes space for these complexities. It reminds us
that multilingualism isn’t just a skill to list on a resumé; it’s a lived experience shaped by
migration, education, and friendship. At Wesleyan, this week is an invitation to be curious about
the languages we hear on campus and the stories behind them.
For me, language has never been just about communication. It’s been about connection,
adaptability, and learning how to exist between worlds. And that, I think, is a power worth
celebrating.
The deadline to submit events to POL is this Friday, 2/6.