Divided by a Common Language

“My being was condensed, and as the rays
Of thought were slowly gathered, I could hear
His voice, whose accents lingered ere they died
Like footsteps of far melody.” – Percy Bysshe Shelly, Prometheus Unbound, II, i

A few weeks ago, I heard a podcast interview with the lead singer/composer of a band I like. His English accent sounded uncannily like a friend of mine, a friend I wished lived closer so his accent, so-to-speak, would be come a more regular fixture in my everyday. Like most sensory triggers, this singer’s voice conjured up bizarre memories I thought were forgotten and a general sense of nostalgia, both for the homophonous (new word I just created!) friend of mine and the circumstances of our friendship: I was living in a town on the outskirts of London, attending the University for a term and learning how to be myself.

I was surprised to learn, during the podcast, that the guy they were interviewing wasn’t from the same part of England that my friend is. Perhaps its very American of me, but I was sure that the detailed intricacies I heard corresponded to a specific geographical spot. I consider myself savvy enough to pick out the locale of certain English accents, and practiced mimicking their inflections for fun, and considered these exercises as a means to bring myself closer to the shores across the pond. For some reason, I let this geographical inconsistency throw me for a huge loop. Of course, it ultimately led me to consider myself – having been told many times by many disappointed people that I “don’t have an accent” (my New York/New Jersey heritage is somehow undetectable in my voice), but also it begged the question: What does it mean to “know” a place?

It’s a question I’ve grappled with often when it comes to London. I don’t consider myself a tourist there, but I’m certainly not a local. I sometimes feel more at home there than I do in New York, but can’t shake the feeling of being an alien. I know to call the Tube the Tube, I know where to get a decent bite or pint, I can differentiate the myriad coins and give you proper change quickly. Still, London is in my blood as a destination, not a base. And England, to me, is still little more than the host country (which is not all different from America’s relationship to New York, to me). Is it worth it to challenge myself over an ambiguous accent? I want to say no. But I can’t shake the feeling that the integration I imagine will make me feel less like an outsider there doesn’t truly exist.

I endeavor and aspire to be a Global Citizen, but the truth is that my experience is limited, and can only claim membership to so many clubs. I suppose it’s better to come to terms with that than to fight it. And perhaps the next time I want to feel the comfort of a familiar accent, I will simply call my friend.