Sanika Babtiwale 

     Lost in translation. Have you ever felt that way? I don’t mean doing something the exact opposite of what was expected. I’m talking about language. Before I entered preschool, I could speak fluent Marathi, the language of an Indian state that my parents are from, Maharashtra. Then I went to school, and being able to speak the language properly faded away. My mind started to think in English and I started to speak in complete English. Now, if you ask me to speak, I hesitate. The sentences come out haltingly, and I tend to mix Marathi and Hindi words (they are both very similar). Yet, I can understand exactly what a person is saying in Marathi. Many people find this connection weird. How can someone understand a language but not be able to speak? Whenever I’m asked this question, I can’t pinpoint a reason why. I’m sure the answer is there implicitly. Perhaps it’s due to my education, or the shows I watched, or the people I interacted with. But there is no single explicit reason. The same goes for my writing.

​

***

​

     I tell myself I write to preserve. It’s true that one will never know when a certain piece will be cherished. Nevertheless, I do not consider myself a “personal” writer. It’s hard for me write pieces about myself or other people, especially those that are open-ended. As a result, receiving an assignment about a personal narrative in my freshman English class was bad news. I was at a loss for what to do. I thought I would end up sounding clichéd, since I had absolutely no idea how to put my feelings into words. I had decided to focus the piece on the time spent with my grandfather, and how he brought the family together after he passed away. The topic was good, the timing was great to reflect, and my instructor had given us no page limit for this piece. So what was my problem? Well, I was afraid of seeing people cringe and hearing the words “this is unclear.” The biggest fear that I had, however, was not doing justice to an individual who I admired (and still do) most in the world. The memories of visiting him in India were at least 7 years old, so recollection would also take time. But this assignment had to be done, and I needed to face my fears. I just started to write…and my fingers took a life of their own. Without even thinking about it, I had created a narrative with a series of vignettes that described my grandfather’s life, his personality, the time I spent with him, and my feelings after I heard that he passed away. As I look back at the story now, I marvel at it. The narrative is 11 pages, each part written in great detail. My introduction and conclusion come to full circle with the idea that time is of the essence. How did I do it? To remember. It is amazing what emotions can do on a page. Once I had relaxed and just written for the sake of recording memories, the thoughts were slipping out of my mind.                                                                                                                     

 

     It is easy to think about writing to preserve once we commit to that ideal. Yet, we forget about the process behind that preserving. Rather than the product of numerous memories on paper, the journey of getting there was much more memorable. The time spent recollecting, the blank document with the blinking cursor, and the uncertainty about the paper’s logic were all part of the determination to record something down. To me, writing to preserve isn’t just about reminiscing memories. It is also about making the connection between one’s experiences and writing habits and seeing how each depend on the other to help an individual become a stronger, more introspective individual.

​

***

​

    It sounds so simple to state “I write to find my truth.” How is it possible to find yourself through words? It isn’t. At least, not completely. When I talk about self-discovery, I want to emphasize how circumstances, words, and charm all came together to help me partially find myself.

​

    I like to discuss international affairs, and in high school I was a part of Model U.N. to experience dialogues with other people. The conferences were stressful and competitive. People were persuasive, charming, and persistent. The podium was their best friend. I saw the same people go up repeatedly, discussing resolutions and positions. It was all a game to see who can be the best speaker, ally, delegate. I discovered that living the diplomat life was not what I thought it would be. I could write a statement about my country’s stance, but it didn’t feel authentic while presenting it. Coincidentally, I was discovering journalism at the same time, and I loved the factual, “cold” side of it. In my junior year, my MUN advisor asked the editor-in-chief of the school newspaper to join the International Press Corps committee, which reported on crises in various MUN committees. She declined the offer but recommended me, a staffer working under her at the time. I agreed, and I got to experience fast-paced crises reporting. Every few hours, we had to turn in a new article about proceedings in the International Court of Justice or debates in Social, Humanitarian, and Cultural committee. I interviewed people for their perspectives on the issues and incorporated those quotes in my articles. I loved it…and ended up switching my interests. I invested more time on the school newspaper, writing mainly news pieces with meaningful quotes and working my way up to editor-in-chief.

​

    While I do not currently participate in any sort of journalism, I learned to “speak up” through my writing because of my past involvement. I was able to do something through words, when I previously thought extemporaneous speaking was the only way. Somehow, writing has made me more “charismatic.” I became a reserved yet confident individual from a quiet, self-conscious person. Yet, I still feel I lack the words to explain how writing has changed me. It is difficult to express the time, decisions, and confidence it took to pursue a path that was quite unfamiliar to me. Perhaps someday I can find that path through more writing.

​

***

​

    I like to believe I write to empower myself and others. In 5th grade, my story was published in the local paper. It was about a family trip to Boston, selected along with several other students for the newspaper’s travel section about summer vacations. I will confess now that the story was not the full truth. I went to Boston, but for spring break, not in the summer. I wrote that I toured Harvard and MIT, but that’s not true either. I did see them from the outside, if that counts. Honestly, I just wanted to seem as if I did something important that summer, mainly because others around me were writing about trips to London and the Smoky Mountains. So you can imagine my shock when my classmate’s parent called to tell us that my story was featured in the paper. The story was partly fabricated, but it did mark a shift in my writing perspective. The truth was many people that I knew had already found some “talent” of their own. He is good at math! She is such a graceful dancer! Although I did not feel anything towards writing, I felt I could excel in it and impress others too. Today, I do not write for fame. For the last year or so, high schoolers have asked me to read their college essays. It doesn’t always go smoothly. There are times when I get frustrated and wonder where to start with my suggestions. But in the end, it is worth seeing people engage with their writing and take me seriously for my knowledge.

​

    Do I actually inspire those students to keep writing better? I don’t know. This is one of the earliest moments where I became more invested in forming something meaningful for myself on a page, but how does it connect to motivating others?  It did not occur to me how writing gives back. In my newspaper story, I thought the only person being affected was me. I wrote the story, so I recognized my talent and became a better writer by each passing day. Yet, somehow the thought that I write for myself turned into I write for myself but to help others too.

​

***

​

    I had to think for a while to pick stories that exemplify why I write. Just like my language example, writing was implicit. I have heard that people write because they have a visible purpose. I’m sure it’s true, but I also think people write even when they don’t know what their specific purpose is. Perhaps, like understanding a language while not being able to speak it, it is within them, just waiting to be discovered at the right moment. My “moment” may come in 6 months, a year, or 10 years. But if there is one thing to take away from this reflection, it is that being lost in translation can be a good thing. Because sometimes, we do not have to say something aloud to set it in stone. It just needs to be felt to make its presence known.

​