If you’ve never lived where the language spoken isn’t your first, and if you don’t speak a second language in the first place, you will need to muster up more empathy before you keep reading.

If you’ve decided this is a good place to rant about being invaded by foreign-accented people who take all the good jobs, stop reading. I won’t go there with you. In fact, I find it disturbing that so many fellow writers share this view, as evidenced by the high ranking accorded a poorly written article on the matter.

Let’s focus instead on a common human experience: feeling isolated because of being perceived as different. Accents distinguish us from each other in such an obvious way. But so do physical irregularities, mental capacities, financial means and social habits. Haven’t you ever felt shut out or singled out? What does it matter what the reason was - you know what it’s like. You just want to fit in. Your accent/weight/IQ/wallet/shyness/etc. keeps getting in the way.

You see? You’re not that different from that person you’re suspicious of or resent for having an accent. You’ve both had to choose how to cope with your difference. Either you adapt or you opt out, and settle on a fringe existence.

I chose to adapt. 2007 marks the halfway mark of my life thus far. I have lived exactly half my life as a person of a different nationality and the more recent half as an American. My first year as an immigrant and naturalized citizen, I wearied quickly of that ubiquitous question, “Where are you from?” I do not presume to accost a stranger to demand information that is none of my business. It was tempting to retort, “Planet Earth. And you?” Unfailingly I copped to being from another country.

Later on, I learned to reply without feeling shame nor a vague urge to apologize.

Much later, I learned to specify the capital city, rather than the country. If I don’t, I have to endure the inquirer’s reminiscing about his military assignment in my country, particularly about the women who service the servicemen at the American bases in two outlying cities.

I have co-workers who also aren’t Caucasian, but no one ever questions their point of origin. Instead I hear, “They don’t have an accent; they must’ve been born here.” Translation: They’re in! They belong! They’ve passed the loyalty test.

And so I’ve worked on sounding American. Not like a twangy, hicktown-hailing, cornbread-chowing American - no, no, that presents challenges of its own. Not like a gushy, chihuahua-carrying, spirit-imbibing heiress American. I strove for a sensible, trustworthy accent, much like you’d expect from your lawyer, professor or mortgage lender. I should say I “strive,” not strove, because it’s a daily thing, adapting my accent. Catch me excited/stressed/crabby/hungry/sleep-deprived and good luck understanding why I substitute short ‘a’ for long ‘a’ sounds. You say potato, I say potato. American is an accent, you know. To the rest of the world who isn’t.

Is it easy for me, speaking with an accent?
Do you have to ask?