Mixing English words into Slovenian contexts. Texting. Consuming fast communication. Using emojis to convey the most superficial of feelings. Using TikTok because Facebook is something old people use. You are neglecting newspapers, books, and letters to the editor.
You.
The Slovenian language has been codified from 1550 onward. It helped our ancestors survive centuries of domination and keep their cultural identity. It created 37 main dialects in a country the size of, well, the LA metropolitan area.
Will you squander this capital in one generation?
This is what I asked myself in the mirror after I read a collection of short stories about fictional five-year-old Bozo, which I wrote based on tales of my grandfather. And then I closed my eyes and listened to the sounds of the Styrian dialect. Far from perfect, but still conveying happiness and guilt and love and deceit.
Paying it forward – so I looked for roots in Austrian Carinthia, where I attend an international IB school. I talked to the Slovenian minority. I heard their pain at being forced to hide their language. Over and over, I heard that their children forgot. Language. Identity. And that their grandchildren and great-grandchildren now want to learn. But who will teach them? So I tried to help. I collected stories, used AI tools to create STT, and later, a bot on its way to maybe one day tell stories in all three major Carinthian dialects.
The problem is that this work is never done. But we can fight fire with fire. Fight AI with AI. Fight TikTok with TikTok. Because Prešeren (our poet) is alive and well on YouTube as much as in old books.
Because it is words that matter. Not the messenger.