I’ve reached the one-year mark of my return to this side of my heart: the American side. It’s probably time to stop writing about my English lessons now (some time has elapsed since the last one) though I’m not certain I ever will.
Because I am convinced nothing compares to living as an alien for a while. Nothing in my life has been more profound or affecting as traveling outside my citizenship’s safe, thick and high walls. And I know its effects will slip into my writing from now until always. Significant life experiences tend to do that. They stealthily and delicately change your perspective while you’re in it and not until you are fully out of it, do you look in the mirror and notice a difference.
If I learned one lesson from my many in England it’s this: No people on this earth speak the same language. No matter how similar it seems on the page or sounds to the ear, we speak our surroundings and upbringings. Our food, our weather, our societal habits and quirks. We speak what we were taught by our parents, political leaders, friends, pop star idols and grocery store clerks. We are a large and spread out Tower of Babel. And I suppose we were intended that way.
I for one prefer the confusion.