The goal among the international students at my uni, was to completely drop our accents – to have our words sound like they’d grown up with ice cream floats and builders tea.
We wanted to be able to go to any bar, to order any coffee, to keep any conversation going for however long a time, only to be able to slip in an “oh, I’m not from England, actually,” and watch people’s surprise.
We worked so hard, to lose our accents, the rolling Rs, the hard Gs, the lilts that gave us away; the sound of what we thought was “not good enough,” “not practiced enough.”
Oh, how wrong we were.
Accents are identity, just as much as names and clothes and the street corners you passed on your way to school. Your accent’s where you’ve come from, it’s the dotted line on an airplane map, it shows the world you dared to try.
Your accent is your family dinners, the lessons of your mum’s lullabies, the laundry songs of your house, the courage it took, to get on that plane.
It’s a road map of the people you care about, those who sat with you while you were learning, who let you spin wonders of the words you didn’t understand, and who offered their pronunciation to try on for size.
My accent grew up with snow in its boots and saltwater in its nose. My mispronounced “shower gel”, My Ds and Ts blurring into each other, is my home away from home.
So instead of dropping our accents, let us celebrate them. For all that we are, and all we’re yet to learn, and every step along the way.
How is it September already? August really flew by this year, and I feel like the months just slipping through my fingers like sand in an hour glass (or something else equally poetic) has become the theme for these wrap-up posts. To be fair, come November I’ll be screaming “can’t it just be Christmas already??”, so not really sure I can be the one to talk, but right now at least, I feel like the days are passing just that bit too quickly.
August has been great though, and I’ve gotten to:
Start the month in France, plus stay in both a little gite + a tent in a campsite
Go swimming in a French lake + “float” across said lake on a homemade raft
Explore Tence and Chenereilles with Harvey
Bring Harvey back to Norway with me for three weeks, and show him my home in proper summer-gear
Spend more time with my nephew, plus introduce him to Harvey
Start my third year of uni!
Meet a lot of wonderful new people
Translate a few more services
Get back into my guide job and start a new part-time cleaning job on the side
Get some more writing done for the business
Receive 38 postcards through Postcrossing (!!!)
Spend Friday-Sunday at a hotel in a neighbouring city, basically being thrown into the deep end with student politics, at my uni’s Student Parliament’s kick off-seminar
Sleep in 7 different beds; in Chenereilles, at the camp site, at home-home, on an air mattress in the flat, in my own bed in my own flat, in a hotel with Harvey and in the hotel with the Student Parliament
What a month! Thanks for stopping by and having a look, and I hope you’re having a wonderful day.
Her mother threw birthday parties on rationing cards, dressed three children in the living room curtains, and sent them to bed with a kiss on the forehead. Her father lived only in the stories, the captain that went down with his ship, the war hero.
Sixteen years later she stepped ashore where her father set sail, trying steps after crossing the ocean that took him, three dresses and a Bible in a tattered suitcase. Governess by day, she told tales of foreign forests before sending new children off with a forehead kiss, Lady in the evenings, at Dr Flemming’s dinner parties, keeping her kisses to her chest like cards.
When the words for hands and home and country were of no use anymore, they slowly slipped away.
Sixty years later, I get off the plane in the country she no longer remembers. Her memories are smoke signals no one can read, but I look to the sky to try anyway.
When I reach the sea, I put my hand in the water, I feel the cold against my skin, how it circles my fingers, my palm.
In a pocket with fraying edges I’ve still got her rationing card.
On nights like this I press my back up against the wall. I let the edges of my bed indent my skin, the space is too small for my limbs and your nightmares.
If you’d let me, we’d stay up all night, and I’d paint galaxies on the back of your hands to remind you how inferior nightmares are. But I cannot wake you or make the swirls in your breath go away, so I shrink further back, I give you space. There is nothing I can do to make it better.
Instead, I place soft fingers on your back and write bright letters on the dark ceiling, for you to see in a dream. I turn to the moon for spelling and to the stars for punctuation, and wait for morning in silence.
I’m trying to come up with fancier names for these monthly wrap up posts, but for now the titles are what it says on the tin!
I know we all say this, but where did March even go? Just a minute ago I commented on how February blew past without me noticing and suddenly it’s April. I can also proudly proclaim that I only fell for one April’s Fools joke yesterday, which for ‘lil gullible me is a new record.
However, as March has waved goodbye, here’s my monthly video; little snippets and tidbits that I’m hoping to look back on one day and go “oh, I remember that!” Loved ones were hugged, many mugs of teas were drunk and new challenges were faced head on. March was a good one.
I’m feeling creative these days, and thankfully, there are a lot of projects I can channel that creative energy into. I’m working on a cross stitch piece for a workshop I’m a part of, I really want to write again (I’m just not sure what), and I’ve just gotten my hands on some exciting new books. So what better time to do a WWW Wednesday post!
WWW Wednesday is hosted by Sam at Taking on a World of Words, and anyone can join the fun! All you have to do is answer three simple questions (“The three Ws”):
-What are you currently reading? -What did you just finish reading? -What are you planning on reading next?
I am currently reading: Twelfth Night by William Shakespeare
Cathy and I went to see this play broadcasted at the Cinema in Winchester last winter, and I loved the intrigue, the confusion and the strange and wonderful characters. Yesterday I found it for £2.50 in a little Swanage book shop, and I’m working my way through it now. So far very good!
Blurb: Variously melancholy, lyrical, joyous and farcical, Twelfth Night has long been a popular comedy with Shakespearian audiences. The main plot revolves around mistaken identities and unrequited love. Both Olivia and Orsino are attracted to Viola, who is disguised as a young man; and Viola’s brother, Sebastian, finds that he is loved not only by Antonio but also by Olivia. While offering broad comedy, Twelfth Night teasingly probes gender-roles and sexual ambiguities.
I just finished reading: The Hat by Selima Hill
This isn’t the sort of poetry I usually read just for fun, but we had another one of Hill’s books, Jutland, as a set text for a poetry module last year, and I do really like her style. It’s playful and witty and truly bisarre. I think I’ll have to read it again, though, to really get under its skin!
Blurb: Selima Hill’s latest collection, The Hat, is a disturbing portrayal of a woman’s struggle to regain her identity. Her story emerges through a series of short poems, often related to animals: how she is preyed upon and betrayed, misunderstood, compromised and not allowed to be herself. Like all of Selima Hill’s books, The Hat charts ‘extreme experiences with a dazzling excess’, with dark humour and surprising combinations of homely and outlandish.
Next, I’ll be reading: The Graveyard Book by Neil Gaiman
A reread of an old favourite; I love Neil Gaiman’s books and the strange worlds he creates! I read this the first time when I was fifteen, and keep coming back to it, for the rich character gallery, the edge-of-your-seat moments and the biting dialogue. Chris Riddel’s beautiful illustrations are also a reason for why this book is a work of art.
Blurb: Nobody Owens, known to his friends as Bod, is a normal boy. He would be completely normal if he didn’t live in a graveyard, being raised and educated by ghosts. There are dangers and adventures for Bod in the graveyard. But it is in the land of the living that real danger lurks, for it is there that the man Jack lives and he has already killed Bod’s family.
So these are my reads right about now. How about you, what have you been reading lately? Have you read any of these, and if so, what did you think? And if you’ve got a WWW Wednesday post up today, pop a link in the comments and I’d love to have a look!