The Story of When I Lost My American Accent

“Where are you from?”

It’s a common question when you’re traveling, but usually people can tell almost automatically from the distinct American accent that someone is from the United States.

Except, instead of America, I’ve gotten Germany, New Zealand, Australia, China, Canada, Ireland, UK, France, Italy, Colombia, South Africa, and Poland (and this is only in the past couple of weeks). One time someone even asked if I was a Rastafarian.

The first few times someone thought I was either German or Canadian were humourous, but after a dozen or so times, I thought it could be interesting to start a list of every country people guess and see what develops from there.

I hear all the time that I have a strange accent. There are certain words I don’t say quite the same as I used to. Some sounds just don’t fall off of the tongue so easily.

But, it wasn’t always this way. Although, I think I’ve always gotten Canada (despite the fact that Pennsylvania is pretty far away!).

I had an accident, and the aftermath of this major fall has had a lasting impact on my life. To this day, I am still bewildered by the effect that it has had. I had no idea how much it would change my life.

One sunny day, a couple of friends and I decided to go hiking at a nearby waterfall. It was no ordinary day, however. Today was special because it would be the last day we would ever be able to go hiking here.

“The waterfall is dangerous,” they said. “People have fallen off, and it’s a hazard. We must shut it down to prevent further tragedies from occuring.”

I’m not too sure who exactly made this decision, but I guess they said something like this, and the word spread around.

So of course, we had to hike it before it was too late. We wouldn’t have another opportunity, after all.

So, we left the last afternoon it was open, excited and ready to explore.

As I went hiking that day, I wondered how people could be so careless. I wondered how it was possible for someone to fall and get hurt. “Things like this won’t happen to me. I’ll be fine. I can take care of myself and pay attention.” I told myself.

As I judged others for being careless, I became more and more confident along the way. I effortlessly hopped from rock to rock like it was nothing. It was like a game to me.

Eventually, I reached the top of the waterfall, and this is where I made my fatal mistake. I saw the water rushing by and knew it would be wise to tread carefully, but I was already flowing and couldn’t stop my momentum.

I hopped onto the next rock, and instead of landing safely, I slipped and fell headfirst into a tree.

It really fucking hurt.

But, I tried to play it off. It wasn’t that bad. I will be fine. I really don’t like to make a big deal when something like that happens to me. I tried to divert the attention elsewhere as quickly as possible.

I was fine.

A few hours later, I was back at my house and all of a sudden found myself extremely upset. I couldn’t stop the tears from flowing. Except, there was no reason for me to be upset. I spent the rest of the night in my room crying and angry.

The next day, I woke up and my head was killing me. I went to the health center on my univerisity’s campus and found out I had a concussion. Apparently this is what caused my random influx of emotions. Who knew?

The next few weeks (which also happened to be my final exam period) were excruciatingly horrible. I couldn’t do anything at all. Everything hurt my head. My phone screen was too bright, I couldn’t read books, even thinking was too much for my brain to handle. My only source of entertainment was painting my nails over and over again. It’s a wonder that I was able to even take my exams. Surprisingly enough, this is the only semester in college that I made Dean’s List (maybe my professors pitied me).

The following month, I had plans to go to Panama to teach English for the summer. I thought that my head would be okay by the time I left, but I kept accidentally knocking it into random things and probably re-concussed myself at least twice more.

I left that June for Panama and spent the summer living in a very small town in a rural area. Pretty much nobody spoke English except for a few teachers who spoke it as a second language. My host family only spoke Spanish and the only way we could communicate was through a language that I really didn’t know.

So I spoke Spanish the entire time I was there. I spoke Spanish for nearly 15 hours per day. I didn’t know what everyone was saying to me the majority of the time. Honestly, there were points in which I didn’t even know what I was saying.

But, overtime, I picked up more and more. Each week I saw massive improvements in my understanding. By the end of the seven week period, I was practically fluent.

Afterwards, I had planned a trip to Costa Rica to work on a Monkey Farm for a month. I ended up only staying on that farm for a few days (this is a whole other story!), but then left and spent the rest of the summer backpacking alone through the country.

The majority of my interactions were either in Spanish or in English with people who spoke it as a second language.

When I spoke it with someone who was still learning, I slowed down my pace and used a bit simpler vocabulary. I didn’t realize, at the time, that my brain was still healing. It was healing now in a different language AND broken English.

At the end of that trip, I returned to the US and had to start using English again full time. At first, I didn’t understand what people were saying.

I had to listen extremely carefully to know what was being said. I guess this is where my accent developed. Honestly, I forgot how to speak English at first. I had to relearn. I had to relearn American cultures and customs because my brain had healed alongside Central American cultures and customs. I had to relearn proper English because I only knew broken English.

I had to participate in class when I didn’t feel comfortable in the language being spoken. People started asking me where I was from for the first time (and I go to school in my own state!), and this is when I started to realize how much this concussion has impacted my life.

It feels as though Spanish is my first language and English is my second. But, I don’t speak Spanish perfectly so I live in a constant state of confusion. I don’t know where to go from here.

I don’t know what to say when people ask me if I am studying English when I am a native English speaker. I don’t know what to do when I can’t speak Spanish everyday when it feels like it should be my native language. And I don’t know if anyone understands what I am going through.

So I guess all I can do now is move somewhere in which Spanish is the first language and perfect it. So from here, I will move to Guatemala and become a trekking guide. It seems like the best option at this point.

Until then, I hope I don’t forget Spanish, because if I do, I will be eternally confused.