My Accent Grief

I had a tumultuous relationship with my accent from the time I first left Australia as a 13 year old, repatriating two years later, and throughout my young adult years as an expat. In my last post (My Accent Battle) I discussed the rollercoaster of emotions I experienced while processing changes to my accent and how it was interrelated with my identity. I got to a place where I was content with my mixed Australian/American/international accent. Not sounding Australian was the price I paid for the life I’d chosen, living overseas and working with Third Culture Kids.

Then I repatriated to Australia again, in my early 30s. This time around, the lilt in my accent that gave others pause as they asked slowly, “so where did you say you’re from…?” was a comfort rather than a curse. It was a badge of honour that demonstrated I really wasn’t from around here, that my life for the past 11 years had taken place elsewhere. I remember knowing that my accent wasn’t completely Australian, being able to hear some differences, but not being able to correct it. I said the word “yeah” differently, for example. The vowel sound was more American. But I couldn’t make it change.

Within two years, however, the lilt was gone. I sounded very Australian. The “yeah” had changed on its own. No one asked where I was from anymore. It made me feel odd, a sort of emptiness. After all this time it was very strange to feel a grief over regaining my Australian accent!

That grief was real, however. I had dismantled my sense of identity rooted in an Australian accent, only to replace it with a sense of identity rooted in an international accent. Wherever I was, I wanted my accent to say something about who I was. This is a dilemma faced by many Third Culture Kids, expats, and other cross-cultured individuals. Our inside and outside don’t map exactly.

After three years in Australia, I moved back to China and married my American (TCK) husband. Now, I thought, my accent will go all intenational-American again! But it didn’t. I sounded quite firmly Australian, despite constant vocabulary glitches. The number of times I stopped mid-sentence, staring at my husband, as my brain short-circuited trying to choose between the Australian word, the American word, and the Chinese word for something - even though he’d have understood all three!

He also became my sounding board for sorting out which word belonged to which dialect. I’d ask him which of a pair of words he used, then say “Okay, then I’m supposed to use the other one!” Not that I kept to it - I switched back and forth between the two dialects as well as Chinese.

Then the Covid-19 pandemic happened. I got stuck outside China, and after months spent in Australia waiting in vain for the border to re-open, we chose to leave. Without a shared citizenship we ended up living in our respective passport countries while working on immigration paperwork for me. This means I’ve spent two years immersed in the Australian accent (and vocabulary) again.

The vocabulary immersion has become particularly apparent lately, as my husband has been able to come and visit me here for three months. It’s amazing how much more often I use Australian vocab with him now when in the past I would have automatically “translated” to American, or was using the American words more naturally anyway.

My sisters use me as a translator at times as well. Just the other weekend, my sister yelled over at me “Tanya, what’s the word for op-shop?” I yelled back “thrift store” without needing context, knowing she needed the American word, and translating with ease as I might have translated Chinese. It was a funny but strangely heartwarming moment for me. (Especially when my sister then got mad at herself for not knowing it, since it’s in the lyrics of a song she likes, a tangent that derailed the whole conversation!)

I am blessed with a family who, despite being firmly rooted in Australia (their two years in the US and the immigrant families of my brothers-in-law notwithstanding) are very accepting of my connections to both China and the US. They cheerfully accept my speaking and singing to their kids in China, my husband’s American vocabulary, and food from both countries. They know China is part of us both. They create an atmosphere where I can live an integrated life.

One thing I’ve learned through all this accent back-and-forth is that it really doesn’t matter how I sound, and how I speak, as long as the life I live embraces all those places. It is when my life is out of balance - when one of those three homes (Australia, China, and the US) is unrecognised in my daily life - that I worry about superficial things like my accent. It’s been a really helpful realisation for me - and perhaps one that can help you on your own journey.