Finding My Voice: A Journey Through Language and Identity

Good [morning/afternoon/evening] everyone,

Language has always been an important part of my identity. It shapes how I see the world—and how the world sees me. From a young age, I recognized the power of words—how they could connect or isolate, empower or restrict. Growing up, I constantly switched between different ways of speaking: the formal English expected in school, the relaxed, rhythmic speech I used with friends and cousins, and the Bengali I spoke at home. I thought I had mastered this ability to adapt, but one moment in my life made me truly question my relationship with language, literacy, and identity.

It happened in seventh grade, in my English class. Our teacher assigned us a spoken-word poetry performance about an aspect of our identity. At first, I was excited. But soon, doubt crept in.

What part of my identity should I focus on? More importantly—how should I speak? Should I use the polished, academic English I had been taught? Or should I let in the slang and dialect I used with my friends and family?

At home, my family mostly spoke Bengali, sprinkled with bits of English and phrases borrowed from other languages. It was natural, comfortable. But in school, it felt out of place. I had learned to filter my speech, carefully selecting words to meet academic expectations. I never questioned this ability to switch between worlds—until I found myself standing in front of my class, holding my poem in my hands. At that moment, I felt exposed.

When the day of the performance arrived, my heart pounded as I stepped onto the small stage. My poem was titled “Voices in My Head”, and it explored the constant shifts in the way I spoke. I started with formal English—the kind I had perfected through years of essays and presentations. But as the poem progressed, I let my natural voice take over. My home dialect crept in. I used the slang I spoke with my friends, the words that felt like home.

I saw curiosity in my classmates’ faces. And for a second, I panicked. Were they judging me? Did they think I sounded less intelligent?

Then, I reached the final lines of my poem:

“I am fluent in more than just words—
I am fluent in worlds.”

Silence filled the room. My heart raced. And then—applause.

My teacher smiled. Some classmates clapped louder than before. And in that moment, I realized that my fear had been misplaced. No one had dismissed my words. In fact, my authenticity had resonated with them.

That moment changed the way I saw language and literacy. I realized that language is not just about correctness—it’s about connection. It’s about expression. I had spent years separating different parts of my linguistic identity, believing that some ways of speaking were only appropriate in certain spaces. But the truth is, they are all a part of me.

My home dialect is just as valid as the English I use in essays. The slang I use with my friends carries just as much meaning as the structured sentences of my schoolwork.

After that day, I embraced the idea that language is fluid, adaptable, and deeply personal. I no longer felt the need to suppress parts of my identity to fit a specific Mold. Instead, I saw the beauty in my ability to shift between different forms of communication—because each one reflects a different piece of who I am.

Looking back, I realize that my journey with language and literacy has been a journey of self-discovery. That seventh-grade performance taught me that language is more than just rules and structure. It is culture. It is history. It is identity.

And most importantly, being articulate doesn’t mean conforming to a single standard. It means having the ability to communicate in a way that is true to who you are.

Because in finding my voice, I found the power of my own story.

Thank you.