Cover letter

While writing my Language and Literacy Narrative, “Language- The Key Ingredient,” I focused on sharing how language shapes identity and belonging. My audience was my classmates, many of whom were born and raised in the U.S. I wanted to give them a new perspective on what it feels like to live between two languages—one that helps you fit in and another that ties you to your culture and family. I tailored my language to be conversational and reflective so my readers could connect emotionally, even if they didn’t share my experience.

One of the most meaningful insights I gained through this project is that language is never just a communication tool—it carries memory, culture, and emotion. I learned that fluency in English has helped me adapt to a new place, but it also made me realize how language loss can feel like losing a piece of identity. Writing about this helped me appreciate the importance of holding on to my first language, Bengali, and how it shapes how I think and express myself.

The rhetorical concepts that most impacted my writing were audience, purpose, and exigence. Thinking about these helped me make intentional choices in tone and structure. For example, I used storytelling and translation to show how language carries culture, rather than simply telling readers that it does. Understanding exigence also helped me see that this narrative isn’t just personal—it’s part of a larger conversation about language, culture, and identity in immigrant experiences.

Writing this essay reminded me that our languages evolve as we move through new spaces, but they never leave us completely. They remain a bridge to who we are and where we come from.

Language: The Key Ingredient

The day before I boarded the plane to leave Bangladesh for the United States, my best friend texted me, “I am so happy for you, but don’t change much, stay like this.” I stared at the words, puzzled.  I did not understand why I would change, what she meant by the word “change”. Aging, yes, that was inevitable, but beyond that, I could not imagine becoming someone else I carried that ambiguity with me until a small moment in a college English class—an offhand compliment about how I sounded—suddenly made my friend’s message click into focus

It happened during a small-group activity in English class where we were sharing our experiences with language. When it was my turn, I said, “English often feels like I’m constantly translating my Bengali thoughts.” The classmate across from me blinked in surprise and said, “Honestly, I would’ve never guessed you didn’t grow up here.” Pens kept scratching, the instructor called time, and the room moved on. I smiled back, but inside a small tremor ran through me. Her words echoed like a missing puzzle piece snapping into place, making my friend’s message clearer. On my walk to the next class, I opened my voice notes and spoke a sentence in Bengali, just to hear it out loud. The words came, but the rhythm felt different—like a familiar song played on a slightly new instrument.

 That day, I did not ask her why she couldn’t tell, but judging from the situation, I came to the conclusion that it was merely a matter of my speaking ability in English, which is my second language, my first being Bengali.

I do not necessarily look American, but I may sound American. That thought kept buzzing in my ears. I am still more comfortable with Bengali than English, and I am still learning English every day. Yet hearing those words shook me to my core. Over time, more and more people added themselves to the list of those who could not guess my origin unless I told them. At first, I felt a surge of relief; this was the key ingredient to surviving here. I could blend in, form connections. But that relief soon curdled into a question: if I could seamlessly mimic another culture, what was left of my originality? I began to wonder if the self my friend wanted me to keep still existed at all.

Growing up, I loved watching Disney. As a teenager, I binge-watched late-night shows, especially the one hosted by Jimmy Fallon, a very nice guy. I carefully observed how the guests spoke in these shows, how characters talked in movies. I was not confined only to the academic curriculum. I was used to getting praised for speaking “good English” back in Bangladesh. It was somehow embedded in my personality, perhaps even my identity. My love for American pop songs earned me the nickname ‘the English singer’—friends who heard me sing often remarked on how much I sounded like the artists. English was always woven into who I was, but now, why does it make me feel like I’m losing myself? Complex, baffling thought.

Maybe it is because I spoke Bengali for most of my life until now. I made jokes in Bengali, shared secrets in Bengali, and carried its rhythm in my everyday speech. Bengali is not just a language but a culture, a history glorified through poetry, protest, and pride. The beauty of Rabindra Sangeet or the fire of Kazi Nazrul’s words cannot be understood by people who do not share this language. Even something simple, like how singing a song by Tahsan could once be the perfect way to impress a crush, is part of a world they will never fully know.  Everything feels shifted.  To think that one day my future children might not speak it well or might not feel its depth at all makes me wonder what pieces of myself, and of my culture, could be lost along the way.

I am such a proud Bengali speaker living in an English-speaking room. I am not in the wrong room, yet roots remain like an echo in my mind. I cannot help but imagine a lot of people go through this same experience, some fully realizing it, others perhaps never naming it. Language is never just words—it carries memory, emotion, and identity. Losing ease in Bengali feels like losing a way of thinking, a way of belonging. It’s a conflicting feeling that may seem trifling to some but a gigantic weight to others who tend to hold on to things like me. I stand here, a testament to two worlds, knowing that my journey will forever be defined by the complex song sung between the language I am mastering and the one I am fighting to keep.