Dear English

You’re one of my sore memories from childhood.

Now I can speak well and write amazingly in English. But once, I hated you more than I ever hated any human being. I literally hated you. But it wasn’t on you. It was on those who judged me for not being fluent like them, for not being confident while using you like they did.

They behaved as if they hadn’t learned it, like they were born with it. As if it wasn’t a skill, but a trait humans are born with.

So many times, fun conversations ended with them making fun of me.

So many times, I was insulted for not knowing a language I had never heard outside books.

So many times, my good scores in English were counted as luck.

So many times, I lost opportunities after getting so close to them, opportunities where you weren’t even a part of the requirement.

Even after having so much hatred for you, I knew you were important. I had to have a good command over you.

I studied in an English medium school, so my written English was always good, though with a limited vocabulary, of course. An English medium school where stories were explained in Hindi, where English wasn’t a cool language among us during free periods. In those initial days of speaking English, I used to cry after every practice because I believed you were everything, that without knowing you properly, I couldn’t breathe the same air.

I couldn’t deny that you were important. And I couldn’t cry and demand Hindi to be made the official language at all workplaces. So I worked on myself instead of dwelling on those memories.

How pathetic of them to make me angry at something that isn’t even a living thing.

Something that isn’t responsible at all for making me feel that way.

Just a language.

A language that helps communicate with almost everyone in important places.

A language that made me question my existence.

My personality.

Yeah, my personality.

A good Hindi speaker is often never counted as someone with a good personality in front of so many people. Especially in front of some poppycock English speakers who project their insecurities onto others. How pathetic is that.

And the saddest part is if I say this in public, people might call me overdramatic. They’ll say it’s a very common problem, not a big deal. But it is a big deal for the one who lived it, who tolerated everything. Definitely not a big deal for a side character.

A scar is a scar.

Even if it’s on every next person, it hurts, and with different intensity for everyone.

Now everything has changed. Now I love you so much. I really do.

Because you’re not my enemy anymore.

You’re the friend who helped me meet so many good hearted people.

You’re as good as Hindi.

I really enjoy writing and speaking in English now, and I can communicate my message clearly. Yay. Yeah, a big deal.

And you’re way easier than learning written Hindi.

In fact, nowadays, I get more writing ideas in English.

Not a very good sign of progress in personality, though,

but a good sign that I now genuinely love you.

You have nothing to do with my personality.

A kind person is kind even in silence.

A shallow person stays shallow even with perfect English.

And now, you don’t sound like them.

You sound more like me.

A language I can mold my way.

To make anything out of you.