Languages
The Standard, an English newspaper, is
delivered
To our doorstep every morning, and we let it
Stay until all other neighbours know
Our language
abilities.
We dress well, even
when taking out
The garbage or
buying a San Miguel
From the store
downstairs.
But let's not boast
to our neighbours
How much more
beautiful we are,
How much more
intellectually-trained.
They don't care. They
live less ambiguously. They speak
One dialect only. Already they are
free
From feeling embarrassed when
pronouncing
/r/ as /l/, /n/ as /l/ or /z/ as
/s/. They don’t feel
Excluded when two real English
speakers
Are in the same room, commenting
on
Memoirs of A Geisha or
Bill Ashcroft’s postcolonial
theories.
We dare not open our mouths, lest
our strong HK
Accent betrays our humble origin. The
terrible
Flatness of our tone, the
inflexibility of our tongue.
~this poem appears in The Asia Literary
Review
Vol. 2 (Summer 2006, p. 158) and Taj Mahal Review
Vol. 5, No. 2 (December 2006, p. 433)
~Image courtesy of Jakub Pstrag.