Accents

Accents are a fascinating thing. They are most apparent when non-native speakers learn a new language. Not having grown up with the nuances of pronunciation, their way of pronouncing things is inevitably different from that of native speakers.

More fascinating are the regional differences within one single country with one main language. Like the United States and its variations of English pronunciation according to various native residents' accents.

Then there is me. Like most Asian kids of my generation, our parents were born and raised in an Asian country, and we grew up in the US (whether we were born here or immigrated here at a very young age). As a result, households are often a mish-mash of accents, with the parents speaking accented English and the kids speaking perfect American English. I'm sure that's true of all immigrant families, not just Asians.

When I was about 8 years old, my school held a speech contest. My mother and I worked on my speech, and I spent countless hours practicing its delivery. I distinctly remember my mom emphasizing my pronunciation (and enunciation) during our practice sessions. Even though she herself couldn't speak with an American accent, she could detect it and note when something didn't sound right. Consequently, I adopted an American accent and since then, I've had 2 accents: the one I share with my parents, and the American one for everyone else. A bit of an oddity, to be sure, but I bounce between the two "worlds" with relative ease.

Here's where it gets interesting. This past summer, my cousin, his wife and their daughter (same age as Todd) came to visit us. Allan, Todd and I rented a van and took them to some of the sights like Sea World and Universal Studios. We had a great time, and they enjoyed meeting Todd and Allan (I had already met them 2 years earlier, when we went to Indonesia). After they returned home, my mom, somewhat amused, relayed something they had told her: they had an easier time understanding Allan than they did me! My mom even agreed with their assessment, telling me that she'd always noticed that I seemed to roll my "R"s more heavily than most Americans-- something she has mentioned occasionally before. I was puzzled, because I couldn't detect anything unusual with my own accent. And probably most Americans wouldn't either, but I guess to people for whom English is not their native language, it's more readily apparent.

Until now. What's changed now? Todd started talking more and more. Listening to him, I realized that he rolled his "R"s more strongly than most Americans. Clearly he picked that up from me. I now understood what my mom was talking about.

So I started wondering why I spoke the way I did. And I think it's a byproduct of my tongue overcompensating for not speaking with my parents' accent in public. I liken it to deep cuts-- when your body heals and generates new skin, it overcompensates and creates more skin than originally was there. And so, in an effort to "correct" my accent, I overcorrected. It makes even more sense when you think of it in the context of what makes my American accent distinct (and difficult for foreigners to follow, apparently): the "R". Asians are notorious for being unable to pronounce this letter. My parents less so because their native language does contain an "R" sound, but it's flatter. It's less trilling than the German "R" sound, and less rolling than the American "R" sound. So perhaps one of the ways I changed my accent was to attack the way I rolled my tongue to make the right "R" sound... only between German and English, I somehow attacked it with a little too much fervor ;-)

I had never thought of this before-- well, why would I, when I was never aware of what I was doing in the first place? But now I've got a little mimic to mirror the way I've been talking back at me.

Fascinating, isn't it-- the way people adapt and adjust and compensate. Sometimes it's not enough, sometimes it's too much, and sometimes... sometimes it's just right :-)