What exactly defines your mother tongue or native language? Is it the language you first learn to speak? Or is it the language you are most fluent in – if for whatever reason that happens to be different from the first? In such case, could one have two or more mother tongues?
According to the first definition, my mother tongue would be Tagalog, which I lost many years ago. According to the second definition, it would be either Arabic or English, both of which I learned later in life. But I can’t really decide. So do I have more than one mother tongue? Nah, I’m probably closer to a lingual orphan in that sense. The confusion, however, does not stop at the boundary of definitions.
Apart from the obvious function of language to express, a mother tongue also has political implications. Your language of origin is an identity card that defines your group of belonging and loyalties. Choosing to divert from the group by employing another language is often seen as a form of betrayal, and therefore is a source of disappointment within the group.
This simple concept was so much more feasible when different ethnic and lingual groups’ interaction with each other was limited to the occasional exchange of merchandise a few centuries ago. The Arab merchants who imported goods from neighboring countries did not have to worry about MTV Arabia streaming 24/7 right into their living rooms. They were also most likely to speak, read, write, think, and blog in their language of origin. This can be hardly said of today. Physical and virtual interaction, through the web, with people of different cultures and languages has become a part of daily life even in some of the most xenophobic communities. So here’s a thought: language shouldn’t be considered as something you’re born into anymore, nor should it be pegged to a nationality. It would be much more practical for language to be a question of choice.
Would this cause all ethnic groups of the world to eventually adopt a single language if they had the choice? Not, likely. There will always be eager Orientalists and Occidentalists on both sides of the equation to keep it balanced.
According to the first definition, my mother tongue would be Tagalog, which I lost many years ago. According to the second definition, it would be either Arabic or English, both of which I learned later in life. But I can’t really decide. So do I have more than one mother tongue? Nah, I’m probably closer to a lingual orphan in that sense. The confusion, however, does not stop at the boundary of definitions.
Apart from the obvious function of language to express, a mother tongue also has political implications. Your language of origin is an identity card that defines your group of belonging and loyalties. Choosing to divert from the group by employing another language is often seen as a form of betrayal, and therefore is a source of disappointment within the group.
This simple concept was so much more feasible when different ethnic and lingual groups’ interaction with each other was limited to the occasional exchange of merchandise a few centuries ago. The Arab merchants who imported goods from neighboring countries did not have to worry about MTV Arabia streaming 24/7 right into their living rooms. They were also most likely to speak, read, write, think, and blog in their language of origin. This can be hardly said of today. Physical and virtual interaction, through the web, with people of different cultures and languages has become a part of daily life even in some of the most xenophobic communities. So here’s a thought: language shouldn’t be considered as something you’re born into anymore, nor should it be pegged to a nationality. It would be much more practical for language to be a question of choice.
Would this cause all ethnic groups of the world to eventually adopt a single language if they had the choice? Not, likely. There will always be eager Orientalists and Occidentalists on both sides of the equation to keep it balanced.
(Painting by Filipino artist Angeles)