Accents
Oh, how I hated my accent. Every time I opened my mouth people would take a double take and stare at me as if I was from another planet. Oh, how I hated my accent.
The constant “What?” or “What did you say?” or “Speak slowly so I can understand you.” My hatred grew by the day.
Perceptions of less intelligent, or less than, or close to nothing. It hurt just to think that I needed to talk.
I found solace in writing, in thinking, in becoming an introvert, not by choice but out of necessity. My world closed on me though I lived in a big city.
Oh, how I hated my accent. I wished I was someone else. I wished for fancy vocabularies and speeches of a thousand words. In my dreams I talked freely, I felt free because I was understood.
I hated my accent until I noticed something peculiar. We all have accents. And people with the same accent sometimes can’t understand each other. People with the same accent use words to hurt others. Accents signify that you are smart enough to know more than one language.
I love my accent albeit sometimes I try fake a new accent to feel extra smart. I love my accent because it is mine, it is me, it reminds me of how strong I am and how far I have come. I love my accent because I love me.
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