Languages I Dream In
Between Hello, Ni Hao, and Kamusta Ka Na
1. Where I’m From Isn’t a Place
I was born Chinese. 中国人。
Grew up in the Philippines.
Became American.
But what am I, really?
A mix that doesn’t translate.
Halo-halo.
(Photo above☝️)
2. Language in Layers
I speak Mandarin with a childhood accent.
真的。
Tagalog with a neighborhood rhythm.
Tsinoy kasi.
English like it’s mine—
but always aware it isn’t where I began.
And sometimes, when I’m tired,
they all bleed together in my dreams.
中文说得不够正式，但能说心事。
My Mandarin isn’t polished, but it speaks my heart.
3. Raised by Contradictions
In the Philippines, I grew up saying
“salamat” and “kain na”,
but at home, elders reminded me:
“Don’t forget who you are.”
你是华人。
I used to wonder—sino ba talaga ako?
Who am I, really?
At school: English.
Universal language kasi.
At home: Chinese.
Papagalitan ng angry parents.
At the mall: Taglish.
Your watches are mahal. Wag na.
In my head: there are six.
In my soul: music, emotion, silence…
The one unique, mixed language—mine.
4. The Pain of Understanding Too Much
They say words connect.
但有时候，说多了反而没人听懂。
But sometimes, the more I say, the less I’m understood.
Because as you know, language is only the surface of deep values and belief systems.
语言只是文化的一部分。
Language is just one part of culture.
5. Becoming American Meant Losing Warmth
When I moved to America, I wanted to sound neutral.
Clean. Clear. “Native.”
But I missed the warmth of Ay naku!
The softness of 哎呀。。。
The practical bluntness of wala na ‘yan,
and the gentle nag of 你怎么又这样？
And sometimes, naiinis ako.
Things get annoying.
6. My Truth Isn’t in One Tongue
I learned early:
Formal language belongs to someone else.
“Professional.”
“Presentable.”
But my truth lives in code-switching,
in hybrid phrases,
in words that don’t exist in one tongue alone.
我不是哪一个国家的人。
I don’t belong to one nation.
But I belong to moments—
to laughter in one language,
tears in another.
Gusto ko lang matulog nalang minsan.
Sometimes, I just want to sleep.
Para wala ng tanong ng tanong.
So no one keeps asking me things I don’t want to explain.
7. The Grief and Magic of No Single Mother Tongue
There’s grief in not having one mother tongue that can carry me fully.
But there’s also magic.
Because when I say “I love myself,”
I mean it in every language I’ve ever cried in:
爱我. Mahal ko ang sarili. I love me.
All at once.
8. Strange to Everyone, Native to Myself
They say my English is strange.
Or my Tagalog is strange.
Or my Chinese is strange.
As if I am an outsider.
As if language is territory—
and I’ve trespassed.
But I’ve studied harder, prayed harder, done more.
一百倍啊，我的宝贝。
A hundred times, my baby.
9. When Nothing Is Enough
Minsan kahit anong gawin, hindi natutuwa lahat.
No matter how hard I try, not everyone is happy.
有时候真的不知道什么是对、什么是错。
Sometimes I really don’t know what’s right or wrong anymore.
10. But I Am Enough
靠山山倒，靠人人倒，靠自己最好。
Mountains fall. People fail. Better to trust yourself.
Magtiwala lagi sa sarili.
不伤心，不贪心，不后悔，开开心心最好。
想说什么，就说什么。
Don’t be sad, don’t be greedy, don’t regret. Just be happy.
Say what you want to say.
Huwag na malungkot or magsisi.
If they don’t understand sh*t—
Keep saying what you want anyway.