When people hear me speaking Belarusian, more often than not, they ask me: "Why do you speak Belarusian?"

For those visitors of this website who haven't been to Belarus or have never even heard of it, I should explain that in Belarus there are two official languages: Russian and Belarusian. Unfortunately, very few people actually speak Belarusian. What's worse, when I was a child, all kids understood Belarusian even though they didn't speak it regularly (myself included). But my daughter's peers do not even understand the language. My daughter is the only child in her class of 33 who can speak Belarusian freely.

Therefore, even though the question "Why do you speak Belarusian?" is painful for me and sounds a bit rude, it is quite understandable. I do not blame people for asking it—I understand the meaning behind it. That is why I decided to write this text, where I share my view on this topic and, hopefully, give a more or less understandable answer.

I think when people ask, "Why do you speak Belarusian?" they also mean: how did you start? What is the story behind it?

If I answered, "Ah, my parents spoke it with me all the time" or "I studied at a school where Belarusian was the main language," that would be easy. That would be understandable. But these answers have nothing to do with the truth—which makes my answer even more interesting.

The truth is, I had no one in my circle who spoke Belarusian to me. My best friend was Russian. Although she was born in Minsk, her parents didn't know Belarusian, and we never used it in our communication. My dad studied at a Belarusian-speaking school, but that was a very long time ago, and he didn't use it either.

However, every summer holidays I spent in the village—the homeland of my mother, in the heart of Belarus, in a small village called Ivashkovo. There my grandparents lived, and they spoke Belarusian. Not book Belarusian, but life Belarusian—simple, authentic. They thought they spoke Russian. But actually it was Belarusian. The way they spoke, that place, that land, the nature—I guess it all formed my deep love for Belarus and the Belarusian language and the feeling of connection with my ancestors.

So since childhood, I have always longed to use this language. I honestly couldn't understand why people would not want to use it. I always felt that it is an important part of me, of my identity, of my culture. My ancestors spoke it. This is part of who I am. It reflects the worldview of generations and generations before me. So why refuse it? For me, refusing it would be like refusing my own past—the part of me that exists whether I want it to or not.

At some point in my life, I met a person with whom I could finally realize this wish to speak Belarusian naturally. That person became my husband and later the father of my child. Although we have since separated, even now, writing these words, I feel grateful to him for helping me realize this deep longing—to speak Belarusian and to raise a Belarusian-speaking child.

For me, Belarusian is the language of my heart. It is like art. It is hard to explain in words, but when I speak it, I feel different. I feel more like myself. More true to who I am. True to my voice, my soul.

I know and have actually used four languages in my life: Russian, Belarusian, English, and Dutch. Depending on which language I use, I feel different. I express myself differently, and different emotions arise.

When I speak or write in English, I feel inspired.

When I speak Dutch—even though I don't speak it perfectly—I feel confident.

When I speak Russian, I feel more straightforward and masculine.

When I speak Belarusian, I feel soft, light, and loving.

I speak Belarusian because this is the language that my heart speaks.