Accents

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I love accents. It seems I always have; I remember imitating the voices of my favorite animated characters and being so proud that I could sound just like them. Nowadays, I can go to a Russian or Indian accent in seconds, or British, of course, to be cliché. Scottish is harder, but I try, and Brooklyn pops up every once in a while. Oftentimes, I get in certain moods where I pick an accent and keep speaking with it until I’m told that it’s annoying. I don’t know, it just happens. My mouth knows how it needs to morph; my tongue knows where it needs to be to create the distinct sounds. With the Spanish language, while other learners struggle and make me grimace with their American accents, I somehow am able to pronounce words well enough to be complemented by a Peruvian after only speaking one sentence (and yes, I’m very proud of it). French learners are even worse, widening the gap even further between me and them in pronunciation. I have a talent, and I love it so much, though I wish I knew more who had similar skills.

I’m fascinated by language in general; both that and accents hold a special place in my heart. It’s interesting how people of different countries can speak the same language so differently, or even people in the same country. Trained ears can tell origin locations by simple inflections, slang, sounds… I want to learn more. I don’t understand how some despise foreign languages, despise alien words and alien sounds and grammar and letters and spelling. I love it. It’s a part of me. I would not be myself without my enthusiasm for the art of being a verbal copycat.

And I wouldn’t oppress it for the world.

 

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