The Story of My Voice

The ongoing relationship of my word and my voice.

My voice has been deep within me all along. It took 36 years for me to discover the right words. 

A teacher rushed into the classroom when I was in the fifth grade. I had no idea who she was. 

“Ugh, Sorry that I’m late.” She placed her books down and pulled out chalk from the desk. My eyes followed the teacher’s hand as she frantically wrote on the chalkboard. ‘Welcome to ….’ 

“Umm teacher! What is ESL?” I shouted. The ESL teacher turned around surprised. She scanned the room. Our eyes locked.

“ESL stands for English as a Second Language,” The ESL teacher replied. 

“Umm… what happens if I already know English?” I questioned. 

“Huh? Well you're here for a reason. Let’s get back to class. We are going to practice writing our name,” The ESL teacher hurried back to writing instructions on the board. 

“I’M DONE!” I shouted. I wrote my name in cursive. Hopefully, this will get me out of this class. No luck. 

“William, be patient,” The ESL teacher snapped back at me. I sank deeper in my seat and stared at the hands tick-tocking around the clock. Thoughts percolated in my mind. Why am I here when I speak English? How bad can my English be if I understand what’s being said? I wrote in cursive for goodness sake! Finally the school bell rang and I ran back to my homeclass. 

“Where did you go?” My friend Ariel asked as I got back to my seat.

“Umm….” my voice cracked. I talked shit all recess. No way am I getting crapped on for being in an ESL class. Not today. I can’t handle it. I argued with my parents for so long. My parents wanted me to speak Cantonese. I pushed back because Americans spoke English. In the end, I won. But why do I have a lisp? A Chinese twang? Use slang like ‘da bomb’ and ‘booya’. How can I be bad at speaking English and Cantonese? 

“You kinda trippin’ right now, you good?” Ariel asked.

“Umm… yeah,” These were the only words that I could think of. I tried to think of something else to say, but “ESL” bursted into my mind. These letters brought an awareness that I wasn’t ready for. I was different from my peers. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t shake these mental pebbles from my mind. Where the fuck do I belong? The only time “ESL” didn’t pop into my mind was when I sang. 

This was easy because I grew up with the best era of music. 90’s and 2000’s R&B. So many catchy hooks, rhythmic melodies, and soulful lyrics. 

“NO MATTER WHAT I DO! ALL I THINK ABOUT IS YOU! EVEN WHEN I’M WITH MY BOO! YOU KNOW I’M GOING CRAZY OVER YOU!” My mom and I competed everyday to see who had the best falsetto as she drove me to high school. I humbly admit. Hers was better. These singing sessions created space for us to share space. 

My mom dropped me off at the back of my high school because this is where I hung out. I hopped out of my mom’s car and into the truck bed of my friend Dylan’s red Toyota. His truck was the meet up spot for my group of friends. He blasted music from his truck while we played football before school started. Thankfully, Dylan liked 90’s and 2000’s R&B.

I never sang around my friends even though I loved it. I was too concerned with upholding the image of a tough football player. I usually bobbed my head when listening to music with my friends. One of the hottest songs in 2004 came on the radio as we played catch. 

“IT'S GON' BURN FOR ME TO SAY THIS, BUT IT’S COMIN’ FROM MY HEART!” I preached out loud. These words struck a chord in my soul.

“Yo who sings that song?” Dylan asked.

“Ugh, Usher,” I responded dumbfounded.

“Leave it that way!” Dylan responded sharply.

“Everyone else singing, you ain't bag on them,” I quickly fired back. 

“That's because your singing is straight garbage!”  Dylan yelled back. All I heard was “Oooo” and “Ahhhh” from my other friends. 

“Umm…I wasn’t really trying to sing. I was playing around,” I tried to play it cool. Too late. My other friends laughed their asses off. I was engulfed in the flames of embarrassment.

Even though these lyrics weren't mine, I poured my heart into every word I sang. I loved 90’s and 2000’s R&B because these songs allowed me to feel a wide variety of emotions. Singing was the only way I felt comfortable expressing my emotions. However, getting roasted for singing was too much to handle. I started sweating. It was getting hot in here. From that point on, I made a conscious decision to use words that made me look good. 

This cautiousness followed me all the way to San Francisco State University. It was the first week of the semester and the entire quad was filled with tables.

“Would you like to make a difference in your community?” A woman in a bright red shirt asked me. 

“Yeah…. of course,” I replied hesitantly. 

“Kids who don’t read at a 3rd grade level by the time they are in the 3rd grade are more likely to drop out of high school. Did you know that?” The woman in the red shirt replied. 

“Wow, I had no idea,” My jaws dropped. I saw myself back in the dark ESL classroom.

“Yeah, also kids from lower income neighborhoods start kindergarten 60% behind their peers from more affluent communities.”

“That is devastating,” My stomach dropped. I grew up in a mobile home which made this statement more personal. Maybe this is why I was in the ESL class?

“Would you be willing to make a 1-year commitment to help kids improve their literacy skills?” The woman in the red shirt asked me. 

“Hell yeah! sign me up!” I was excited that a little bit of my time could make such an impact.

“Welcome to Jumpstart!” The woman in the bright red shirt congratulated me. 

Jumpstart provided me with a robust curriculum. Each lesson plan had designated books, songs, and activities which centered on specific vocabulary words. All I had to do was follow the instructions. Easy peasy. I began story time. 

“Umm Mr. William, what is a deli… deli…cates…sen? One of my students asked me. 

“Ah what?” I had no idea what my student was saying. The student gets up and points to the word ‘delicatessen’. What was a delicatessen? I have never seen this word before. I looked at the picture and realized that the characters were buying a sandwich. “Oh, it's a place where people can buy food,” I told the student. 

“Oh, like a corner store?” The student questioned my response. 

“Yes, like a corner store,” I assured the student.

“Well why don’t they just say that. That’s silly,” The student got up and ran joyfully across the classroom to another student. “Hey I’m going to a deli- deli-cates-sen corner store!”

It dawned on me that literacy is not about knowing or using big - fancy -sophisticated - intricate words to sound smart. Rather, literacy is being empowered to use the words that you already know to communicate your thoughts and ideas and then build on top of that. My student’s excitement left me excited about the power of words. 

I wanted to experience this excitement for myself so I wrote a spoken word piece for my Asian American Studies class. I was nervous because this was the first time that I would write and share a creative piece. I wanted to write a piece about my experience as an Asian American, but didn’t know what a creative piece would look like. 

To my surprise, thoughts flowed from my brain down to my arm and straight out of my pen. Fluidly. Hours of writing felt like minutes. I loved revising. I felt like a conductor moving parts around in my piece. I rehearsed for weeks. My motto for rehearsing: any time, any place, everywhere. Much to the dismay of my roommates. All of a sudden ESL popped into my mind. I told myself that I had to memorize every single word because of all the time spent. This was my time to prove this narrative wrong. The time finally came. It was my turn to share my piece. My stomach was in knots, but somehow I got up in front of the class and cleared my throat.

“When you open this letter, please take a closer look at how the words on this page were written. ” I spoke loudly into the mic. The knots in my stomach unraveled which was a huge relief. I felt the power in every word. It landed how I envisioned it. I must’ve gotten too comfortable because my pace kept picking up. Every word spoken created a momentum that let the proceeding words come out faster, quicker, until it just waterfall. I was totally caught off guard. My mouth couldn’t keep up with how fast my mind was moving. 

Blip. 

My mouth and brain shuts off at the same time. I completely blank out. What was I supposed to say next?  Being the contingency planner that I am, I printed my spoken word and pulled it out from my back pocket. 

“For those who are hoping for a better world, even though you're frustrated, never pull out glocks and shoot up blocks rather inspire people with the bullets of your words because a rude awakening will last longer than a physical scar ever would!” I exhaled the last sentence into the mic. My classmates clapped and cheered. I was relieved. However, something didn't feel right. While my piece moved the audience, I didn’t feel moved by my own piece. The paper created a barrier between my words and my voice. I didn't express myself like I wanted to. I left the stage with the feeling that maybe writing and spoken word just wasn’t for me. 

I didn’t touched a pen and paper for over 13 years, but 2022 was fucking chaotic for me. A global pandemic turned the whole world upside down. I had a baby girl which turned my life inside out. Bought a home at the expense of moving away from San Francisco (my home for 17 hears), quit my job to be a full time father, and my father passed away. All of these events occurred in less than a year. The life that I knew crumbled beneath me. I had no idea what I was doing, where I was going, and no one to turn to. Everyone was dealing with their own shit during the pandemic. I needed a way to connect back to myself. I hopped on Google and found Capital Storytelling which is a story telling organization. They met over zoom where people could share stories. I didn't know what storytelling was about so I joined out of curiosity.

When I got into the zoom room, I was blown away. People shared their lived experiences openly and freely. I got so caught up hearing other people's stories that I decided to share a story of mine too.

“Hey, have you told stories before?” The director of Capital Storytelling asked me after I finished my story.

“No. This is my first time,” I responded. 

“Oh really, you are a natural. If you are interested, would you like to share at our event coming up at Sacramento State University?” The director asked me.  

I was initially hesitant. I was an ESL learner. My voice was straight garbage. My words may not be relevant to others. I didn’t want to embarrass myself by pulling out my story from my pocket like the last time I performed. However, something inside of me told me that I needed to tell a story. “Umm yea sure why not,” I confirmed my participation. 

So I sat and thought. Thought and wrote. Wrote and revised. Revised and spoke. Spoke until every word felt right. Right in my soul. 

On my way to Sacramento State University, it hit me. My words brought awareness, provoked emotions, and drew connections. My words are an expression of my lived experiences. These lived experiences were the stories of my life. The story of my voice. I am my words and my words are me. I felt empower. I got on stage and let the words flow how they should.

This performance was the first time I finally embraced my words, my voice without hesitation. It is my pleasure to share this performance with you. 

Immigrant Stories, Capital Storytelling , 2023

Reflection Question:

Think of a moment in your life where you embraced your words and voice. Feel free to share in the comments.