What Does It Feel Like to Be Illiterate?

I think I might know

The Merriam-Webster dictionary defines literacy as being able to read and write.

Most of us take this simple skill for granted. We went to school as kids and learned to read from parents, teachers, and aggressively large yellow birds.

Some of us took this basic expertise and allowed it to completely envelop our worlds. Even at incredibly young ages, we’d make attempts at reading The Lord of the Rings without truly quite knowing what an “ilex” or “hauberk” or “Grade 9 reading level” meant.

But not all of us took this extra leap to form a complete grasp of languages.

The CIA World Factbook states 99% of the US population is literate.

I am not one of those people.¹

The Intricacies of Shopping Illiterately

When I go to the store, I rely on the pictures more than anything. I trust in the superpowers of the supermarket manager to provide the goods in a super logical order.

If Q-tips don’t have a Q on them, I pray the container is see-through, lest I end up buying something that’s meant for a different orifice.

Buying cleaning products always presents a challenge. How am I to really know if this discounted brand is suitable for my whites, my colors, or my Ancient Roman robes which are only worn at special ceremonies which need not be mentioned here?

God forbid you find me situated in the vegan aisle with all of its misteaken² dishes made to look like tasty meats. Speaking from experience, they never quite taste the same. Although I once had a lovely crispy piece of cardboard left under a pizza that rang true to similar flavors.

And don’t get me started on trying to find proper supplements. Yes, I know I should be taking vitamin A, B, C, D, E, and possibly γ, Δ, or ζ, but I don’t really know the difference. So I just take them all.

I am a good consumer.

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Why I Can’t Read

I’m not fully illiterate. The last time I was tested, to my tutor's dismay, I could only read about 900 words.

And that was after studying for a full day before.

Ouch.

It’s not like I actually want to be illiterate either. However my funky brain works, it certainly doesn’t lend itself well to the repeated daily tasks that it takes to learn thousands of minute silly pictures people call words.

Sometimes I’ll be in the opposite of a rut, which I haven’t yet learned the word for. Maybe it will last 1 month, 2 months, or even 3. I’ll establish the routine, settle in, and learn new words for 30–45 minutes every day.

It brings a sense of calm, slow achievement, and the potential attainability that billions of regular people take for granted every day.

But it always ends the same.

I’ll go on vacation. I’ll be called away for a week. Or a worldwide pandemic will hit and give my tutor a great excuse to stop putting up with the terrible papa jokes I make.

The only time I ever truly gain long-term progress is when the ruts—not the opposite— occur less and less frequently. If I can somehow struggle through my long-term ADHD raddled brain to come back to the habit quick enough, then I truly do gain some mileage.

But this is often not the case.

I am not a good student.

Thank God for Friends

Or Budha, or Nimrod, or Vishnu. Whatever is looking down upon us, the gift of friends means a lot more to me than you could ever imagine. If I ever have something truly important to do, like figuring out what style of lager an IPA is, I have countless friends to call upon to help out.

“Friend #347, I have a big problem!” I will often say using my trusty speech-to-text app. And as usual, a trusted reply comes back in the form of:

“What beer is it this time?” or “I told you, we’re not friends.” or “This is an automated reply from the court order, your number is permanently blocked.”

While I can’t yet read their replies, I always know they have my best interests at heart.

Except for that one time it turned out to be a Guinness. That was disgusting. I had to wash it down with a peanut butter tuna sandwich post-haste to get rid of the nasty flavor.

But yea, friends are awesome. Except Steve, he’s a dick.

Steve is not a good friend.

Life Goes On

So while I can live a pretty normal life, being fully literate is something I greatly aspire to. I see people around me conversing over the daily news.

I am jealous.

I walk through malls and see people pointing at books that mock me with their judgy covers.

I am jealous.

I see children reciting nursery rhymes on posters that I dare not try to understand.

I am ashamed.

Yes, not being able to read much of the language is something that brings me great and private shame. Yet not enough to drive me to overcome it.

So, the next time anyone else is in my shoes, living in Taiwan for years after leaving the sweet, sweet, readable shores of Canada, please try to remember those of us who seem — at least on the surface — too lazy to learn properly.

My name is JJ, and I can’t read Mandarin.

And I am ashamed.

(And possibly just really, really lazy.)

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J.J. Pryor

謝謝閱讀！

Notes:

1. I’m not American.

2. Imitation steak is never real steak.

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