Growing up, I never really found the need to perfect my Spanish. The only occasions in which I used my Spanish were at home, either when conversing with my parents or greeting distant relatives on the phone. For the majority of my adolescence, Spanish literacy was to me that extra pen you would store in your bag and forget about. It’s strange how when you finally go looking for that pen it’s nowhere to be found. Like that pen my Spanish was sub-par, sure we could have a conversation but ask me to write down what I had just said and we’d be there all day as I sound each syllable from every word one by one until I’m able to formulate a decent sentence. You see, speaking in Spanish and writing in it are separate entities, yin and yang so to speak. I would come to fully grasp the limitations of my Spanish on a trip southward, just east on the Island of Hispaniola, oh sunny Dominican Republic. This trip, which served primarily as a means of reconnecting with extended family, became a testament to my Spanish literacy skills and their needed growth. While not my first time traveling abroad to a predominantly Spanish-speaking country, this time I had found the need to express myself via my Spanish writing, a skill that I had never found myself needing before. On a brief visit to my grandparent’s house in a remote suburb of Moca, a vibrant yet still city. I found myself running into and reconnecting with an old childhood friend of mine whom I had known by the alias Peroni. For a brief period of my life, I had lived in Moca, those days filled with numerous reckless and exciting adventures alongside Peroni who had lived just two houses down. After a brief recap of our shared experiences and acquired success over the many years that had gone by, we exchanged phone numbers agreeing to stay in touch and meet up later along my trip. Shortly after this, it quickly became apparent the prominent dilemma of my inability to decipher Peroni’s messages. I came to understand the Dominican Republic’s unique way of conversing via text, which included shorting standard words and phrases often into three or more lettered abbreviations, each typically taking the first letter of the chosen word. For example, when greeting someone it is typical to say “KLK ” or “Qloq” which I would come to find out mean the same thing and are the abbreviation of “Que lo Que” which when translated roughly means “What’s Up”. Often included within these abbreviations are unique slang words including Olla; to have no money, Pariguayo; a fool, Vaina; anything and everything, and More; my love. This standardized method of abbreviating select words and phrases embedded with unique slang terms made me question if this had been another language entirely. This dialect of Spanish I felt deserved a right to a section on the Rosetta Stone for its complexity and intricacy. It was a bright and sunny morning and a family trip to a popular nearby lake had been planned. Shortly following arrival while wandering the shoreline accompanied by Peroni, I found myself discovering a cliff, adorned by a tall perched tree at its edge positioned perfectly as though calling upon those to climb it exemplifying its use as a makeshift diving board. It stood at a roughly 40 perhaps 50 feet elevation and at the highest most branch you could see there had been a rope attached. I quickly made this apparent to Peroni and as he agreed to check it out we quickly made our way through the vegetation and began climbing upward. At the top the view was profound, one could see the entirety of the lake. However, due to the positioning of the sun and upward perspective, the depth of the water remained unclear as the bottom of the lake could not be seen. I knew as soon as I had reached the top that this was something I wanted to do. Peroni quickly followed suit and agreed to jump as long as I had gone first. I was comfortable with my ability to swim. I swam often and have a grasp of the basics. Below we noticed another group of locals seemingly shouting and waving at us in perceived encouragement. Without further thought or hesitation with a swift running start, I jump with Peroni following behind. During the descent into the water, the immense depth of the shallow area became apparent. As I made my way up to catch my breath I came to realize Peroni had not learned how to swim, as he quickly came under distress due to his inability to remain afloat. 

This is not a tragic story… as I would quickly save Peroni who remains alive to tell this tale. However what I had originally perceived as shouting and waves of encouragement from local onlookers were attempts at warning us of the dangers that area possessed. Before jumping I distinctly remember hearing a man below shout “Dale banda ta muy hondo”. Which I now understand as “don’t jump it’s very deep”, but struggling to comprehend its intended meaning I had shrugged it off as encouragement. We would come to find out afterward that a portion of the lake was over 15 feet deep and a site numerous others had drowned in over the course of a few years. What came after was an inevitable scolding by my parents, who had seen Peroni’s distress signals in the water. Years later, we find ourselves laughing at my inability to understand frantic waves and our rash decision to jump. Following years of back-and-forth messaging with Peroni has led me to finally grasp and build an understanding of native Dominican literacy. To this day, I occasionally converse with Peroni except with newly established literacy comprehension. In hindsight, I’ve come to associate this trip as the driving factor that got me to reconnect and rekindle my interest and grown understanding of Spanish literacy, almost like reaching deep within your bag and in one swoop finally finding that extra pen that had tormented you for so long.