UNTIL about 12 years of age, children can learn any language to the extent that it becomes their native language. After that, the ability fades away.
In 2008, a Canadian neuroscientist, Norman Doidge, published a book in which he dealt with this “fading away” of the language faculty and described the concept of what he called “the tyranny of the mother tongue”.
According to Doidge, “Learning a second language, after the critical period for language learning has ended, is more difficult because, as we age the more our native language comes to dominate the linguistic map space (in our brain) and the second language finds it hard to compete.”
I am grateful to Doidge for this observation. With his help, I have made sense of many of the issues that I encountered in learning English since I was a child.
In hindsight, I can look back now and see how and why I, like most adult learners, was tyrannised by my mother tongue in that I acquired the habit of translating English into my native language, which is Bidayuh.
Cross-translation (English to Bidayuh then back to English) was a recipe for failure when I was young and in school. I failed because thinking in Bidayuh first and then speaking in English was extremely stressful since my brain couldn’t translate fast enough to keep the natural speed of speech.
I remembered a lot of words , but could not use them in conversations because translating them into English was a slow process.
I realised that when I spoke my native language it was done subconsciously and automatically. So, why couldn’t I speak English in the same manner?
When I was in primary school — 1960 to 1965 — all our lessons were in English — except for Bible classes which were in Bidayuh. Besides the teachers, the senior pupils, our village priest, and some village folks had the habit of speaking a mixture of Bidayuh and English in their daily conversations. It was quite like Pidgin English but what it was didn’t matter much as long as people understood one another.
It was fun learning English those days. I derived great satisfaction from reading and re-reading The Little Mermaid until I reached Primary 6, by which time I had also read Cinderella, Beauty and the Beast, and Sleeping Beauty.
In addition to enjoying pop songs from the radio, we also had lots of enjoyment singing popular nursery rhymes such as Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star, London Bridge is Falling Down, Mary Had a Little Lamb, Baa Baa Black Sheep, and many others.
Sadly, the fun and joy almost ended when I continued to a boarding secondary school where I quickly came to the realisation that I was not a child anymore but not yet an adult.
Right from the first day, it came as a great shock that I could not speak proper English to anyone. I understood a lot of what the other students and teachers said but froze every time I thought of saying anything. When it was possible and appropriate, I stuck to yes-no replies. Anything more complicated was met with lots of hand gestures and disjointed sentences.
And so began what I often called ‘My Tortuous English Journey’. I even wrote these very words on the covers of several of my English exercise books.
Without any exaggeration, I was dissatisfied with my first two years at the school mainly because of my inadequate command of spoken English. Reading was getting easier and easier with each book I read, and writing was not too hard especially when given a lot of time.
What got me discouraged was the inability to speak fluently and clearly. It was so hard to converse with anyone that I tended to look for the comfort of being with other Bidayuh students who had the same problem.
I felt the effects of my predicament so keenly because I wanted so badly to be able to tell stories, to tell and catch jokes, to debate, to take part in conversations, and above all to ask meaningful questions.
The thought of quitting school was a regular visitor in my head and sometimes stayed there rent-free for days and even weeks. When I revealed this to a close friend, a Bidayuh boy from another village, he was silent for several moments before admitting that he had a similar problem.
“But I don’t want to quit,” he said.
“Why?” I asked.
“It would be shameful! I don’t want people to think that I am a quitter. And I don’t want to disappoint my parents.”
“I want to quit because I feel so disappointed with myself.”
“Just because you can’t speak English fluently?”
“Something like that.”
“I don’t like English. My favourite subject is Biology.”
“I love English but it gives me hell.”
My situation reached a critical state when I was in Form 3, which was in 1968. My lack of progress in speaking English had adverse effects on my other subjects because I could not ask questions in class. Speaking to any of the teachers after class was impossible, and getting help from other students was usually a last resort.
One Saturday evening, with most of the boarding students gone for the weekend, probably replenishing their pocket money and other necessities, I was lying in bed in my hostel, sulking and feeling sorry for myself while a classmate of Chinese-Bidayuh parentage was on a nearby bed doodling on a drawing book.
As the minutes went by, my thoughts grew darker and darker and eventually became so intense that I felt a sharp pain in my chest.
In an instant, I felt two hands pulling me up to a sitting position. It was William, my Chinese-Bidayuh classmate. “What happened? I thought you were sleeping,” he said, a worried look on his face.
“I don’t know!” I replied as I rubbed my chest.
“You yelped like you were in pain!” he said as he rubbed my back vigorously as if that would relieve me of some ailment.
“I’m okay. I had a bad dream,” I lied.
Note that the above exchange in broken English, Bidayuh, and Iban has been refined for the sake of clarity.
That scary incident gave me a whole new perspective on my predicament. Right there and then I decided to shape up or ship out. But how?
The next day, as was my habit, I went to the school library to return a book and looked for another one to borrow. While skimming through the pages of a Reader’s Digest magazine, I came across a story about someone who, just like me, was struggling to learn English.
He learned by thinking in English all the time rather than in his mother tongue. He kept it up until he mastered English to such an extent that it felt like his second native language. To make a long story short, I left the library that day with a bit more bounce in my steps. It was a turning point and, as for the thought of quitting, it disappeared never to return.
The “thinking in English” method gave me a lot of hope and motivation, but at the same time, I knew it was going to be difficult because I had to be my own teacher.
In those days English was taught in school with grammar-translation methods, which seemed logical. Unfortunately, it created in me a habit that later was hard to break. And to start thinking in English, speaking fluently, and answering questions quickly I must develop some new habits. To start, I imitated the guy in the story. I labelled everything around me starting with the most basic things in my hostel and classroom — bed, blanket, bedsheet, locker, light switch, light bulb, window, ceiling, wall, floor, door, steps, chair, table, blackboard, etc. As I paid more attention to the surroundings, I became keenly aware of many things (the nouns). Amazingly, it did not take forever and I soon ran out of things to name. To keep the lesson going I even visited a bicycle repair shop to watch a mechanic at work and named whatever I saw. It gave me great satisfaction to identify the frame, fork, wheels, chain, pedals, tyres, handlebar, saddle, brakes, brake cables, etc. Next, I thought of simple sentences such as “I’m hungry”, “I’m tired”, or “The door is open, the window is closed”. I continuously made lots of simple sentences and practised them in my head or out loud. It helped me remember many sentences and words.
Then I talked to myself. It was quite simple. All it required was a lively imagination. I asked questions and thought about the responses. Other than being fun it enabled me to practise what I might say in a real conversation. For example, I imagined a person asking me: “Would you like to play football this evening?” My reply would be: “Yes, but we need more people to form a team. We don’t need other people. I play goalkeeper; you kick the ball and I try to catch it.”
“Oh, all right. You mean, right now?”
“Yes. Let’s go.” And so on.
I often tried to make the imagined conversation interesting by talking about subjects that I liked such as music, football, books, etc.
Very often, so as not to look strange when practising out loud, I would pretend to read a book while voicing out my inner dialogues.
Before going to sleep each night, I thought in English about what I did all day. Over time, when Willian realised what I was trying to achieve, he joined in and we had many conversations during which we challenged ourselves not to speak any other language. We got better with each conversation and before too long, we realised that there was no need to translate English in our heads.
Thinking in English also helped me understand the language well. When I absorb a piece of information, I knew it without translation. And I didn’t need to remember grammar and pronunciation.
The views expressed here are those of the writer and do not necessarily represent the views of the New Sarawak Tribune.
