The definition of mother language is the language(s) a person has learned from birth or the language of one's ethnic group. The first language I learned from birth was Korean even though I was born and raised in the United States. At home from the time I was a baby to when I was about six years old, I only spoke Korean because my parents spoke Korean to me and that was the only language I was exposed to. When I started elementary school, I was enrolled in ESOL (English for Speakers of Other Languages) to learn English. Surprisingly, it only took me about three years to learn English because the younger you are, the easier it is to learn languages. Then after I learned English, I began to slowly talk back to my parents in English rather than Korean. I really don't remember the period when I began to stop speaking Korean totally and just speak English but I know I felt like a part of me was missing. By the time I reached fifth grade, I slowly began to lose my ability to speak, write, and read in Korean because my exposure to Korean decreased while my exposure to English increased. My parents worked so they were not at home most of time and along with that I went to a Korean church but it was only once a week. However, I could still understand Korean but I couldn't speak Korean. So during the summer of sixth and seventh grade, my parents sent my siblings and I to Korean language school where we learned the basics of Korean and interacted with other Korean kids just like us. But a few weeks of Korean languages classes over the summer did not improve my Korean to the extent that I was able to speak Korean fluently. Then during my eighth grade, I reached a turning point in my life. One day, my Korean friend from school invited me to her house to play. I had a great time dressing up in princess dresses and playing with her Bratz Dolls. The afternoon flew by and before long it was time to leave, so her mom prepared some snacks for us to eat. My friend had to get something upstairs so her mom and I were left downstairs eating our snacks silently. My friend's mom then asked me a question in Korean and I understood what she said but I couldn't reply back in Korean so I answered back in English. However, she couldn't understand what I was saying so for the rest of the time we sat in silence. The look on my friend's mother read a look of disappointment and pity, a look that was engraved in my mind for most of my childhood. I felt ashamed and embarrassed that I couldn't reply back in Korean. It was at this point in my life that something had to change. I didn't want to be looked at stupidly or strangely by other Koreans because I couldn't speak Korean. I didn't want to feel helpless. I looked at other Korean children my age and looked at myself thinking "Why can't I speak Korean and how can she speak Korean perfectly?" I began to blame myself and my parents for not being able to speak Korean. The feelings of depression and rebellion were seeping into my mind not because I couldn't speak Korean but because I didn't know who I was anymore. I didn't have anybody to talk to and nobody's shoulder to cry on. Along with that, I was teased throughout elementary school for how small my eyes were and how I talked. I didn't have many friends and being very shy around people didn't help.
"Something has to change, I have to learn Korean no matter what."
And so from eighth to tenth grade, I studied Korean vigorously, studying everything and anything I could find about Korean. I spent my free time studying Korean, watching Korean dramas, and listening to Korean music, essentially anything I could find to improve my Korean. Then by the time I reached tenth grade, I could read, speak and write Korean like any other Korean my age. I felt proud and accomplished that I was able to reach my goal in such a short amount of time. I could speak to other Koreans my age and I could talk back to my parents in Korean rather than in English. My confidence came back and a new chapter began in my life.
