What Did You Say?

Every time I go home to New Zealand, I return to New York with a stronger than ever kiwi accent. This isn’t necessarily a good thing: I love being from New Zealand and I like having an accent, but my kiwi twang has always been more white trash than to the manor born. And when it intensifies, it becomes much more difficult for Americans to understand what I’m saying.

Apparently, judging by the furrowed brows and open mouths I’ve encountered in that last day or so, this time around my accent has returned with such a vengeance that I’m almost incomprehensible. No one seems to be able to get more than every third or fourth word I utter, even though English is, obviously, my first language. Every stranger I’ve conversed with asks me where on earth I’m from. Or reacts like this. So my chore for the day is slow down my words, talk more clearly, and, hopefully, start to be understood.