These past couple of weeks have stirred something in me about my cultural identity.

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Afrikaans—my language—is celebrating its 100th birthday. It’s one of the youngest languages in the world, yet well-developed, even used at university level.

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At the same time, around 60 Afrikaner people—my people—have moved to the USA as refugees. I’m still sitting with that reality, trying to make sense of it in my body, soul, and spirit.

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But when it comes to Afrikaans itself, I feel proud. I see unity growing among its speakers. The different flavours and expressions of the language are being celebrated—perhaps they’ve always been there, but now they’re being honoured publicly. Put on a stage. Shared with joy.

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Afrikaans has gone through many seasons:

It was born in the kitchens of the Cape of Storms, shaped by the tongues of slaves and traders.

It became a language of power and struggle during apartheid.

It then entered a season of fighting for survival.

Now, it’s becoming a place where people from diverse backgrounds can meet—where thoughts, ideas, and creativity can flow together.

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We are in a moment of celebration. It’s beautiful and glorious to see the language feel at home in such diversity.

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Yet here I am, far away. Living in Japan. Learning Japanese.

At home, we speak English—my husband speaks Fijian and is proud of it.

We both grieve the moments when our mother tongues don’t flow as freely from our lips as they once did.

But one thing never changes:

Our mother tongue will always represent home.

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Here are a few thought-provoking questions for you, who are like me, living far from your home country and mother tongue?

• In what moments do you feel most connected to your cultural roots, even while far from home?
• Are there things you feel you can only say or feel fully in your language?
• What would it look like to weave your language into your life now in a meaningful way?

Please reach out and share your thoughts.

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