The House with Too Many Languages
SHORT STORYSINGAPORE11
Mei Xuan
6/21/20261 min read
At Mei Xuan’s house, breakfast happened in four languages.
Her grandmother spoke Mandarin. Her grandfather preferred Hokkien. Her father switched between English and Malay at work and sometimes forgot which one he had started using. Mei Xuan answered mostly in English because it came fastest.
This worked until her cousin Jia Yi moved in for the school term.
Jia Yi had grown up speaking Mandarin and understood only a little English. On her first evening, Mei Xuan tried to ask whether she wanted the top bunk.
“You sleep up?” Mei Xuan said in Mandarin.
Jia Yi looked confused.
“Up sleeping? Are you tired?”
Mei Xuan pointed toward the bunk bed. Jia Yi began laughing.
For the next week, they communicated through gestures, drawings, and translation apps that often produced strange results. When Mei Xuan tried to say, “Your school uniform is drying,” the app announced, “Your educational clothing is becoming less wet.”
At school, Mei Xuan’s friends asked why she did not simply speak Mandarin with her cousin.
“I can speak it,” Mei Xuan insisted.
But she realised that she could speak only about food, family members, and basic instructions. She did not know how to explain her favourite jokes, why she disliked group projects, or what had happened during science class.
That bothered her.
Each night, Mei Xuan and Jia Yi began teaching each other five phrases. Jia Yi learned English expressions such as “That makes no sense” and “Save me a seat.” Mei Xuan learned how to describe feelings and tell stories in Mandarin.
Their conversations grew longer.
One Saturday, Grandmother told a story about hiding beneath a table during a childhood storm. Mei Xuan had heard the story before, but only in pieces. This time, she understood enough to ask questions.
“Were you scared?”
“Very.”
“What did your mother do?”
“She sang.”
Grandmother began singing the old song.
Jia Yi joined her. After one verse, Mei Xuan joined too, mispronouncing two words and coming in late.
Nobody corrected her.
Months later, Jia Yi became confident in English. Mei Xuan’s Mandarin was still imperfect, but she stopped avoiding it.
She had once thought language was simply a tool for delivering information.
Now she understood that every language opened a slightly different room in the same house.
She wanted to be able to enter all of them.