Where Are You From? A Question I Know Well

If I had a dollar for every time someone asked me, “Where are you from?” — well, I could probably buy a nice little shelf of new books for the library.

But time changed, and I changed with it. Before, I would’ve answered right away. Now, I’m more cautious — sometimes even a bit playful — and ask back, “Why?”.

Recently, a gentleman on the phone told me that his question (about the accent) was a compliment.

“Oh, well… I’m from Russia,” I said.

But in my head I thought, Come on, dude, from what planet are you? I’ve been living in the New Bedford area for almost 12 years. I’ve been working at the library for nearly 10 years. And you’ve never heard of the Russian librarian? (Well, technically I am not a real librarian, just a library assistant, but a good one).

Don’t get me wrong. There are plenty of Russians here. All are good people with families, friends, and jobs. But somehow it feels like I’m the one who’s most “publicly present.”

Working at the library, I meet so many people. Most are kind and curious. Some just can’t place my accent — and that’s okay. It’s part of who I am. My accent holds the sound of Russian, the structure of grammar I had to re-learn, and the courage it takes to speak in a second language every single day.

Yes, I know I have an accent.
Yes, I know how to get rid of it. But it’s costly, time-consuming — and, as my husband thinks, I can lose my charm by getting rid of it.

So I’ve made peace with it. My accent is my difference. It’s my journey. And it’s a part of me I’m learning to be proud of.

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