Last week, I sat at a tea shop with two dear friends, one of who recently converted to Islam and began to wear hijab. We stumbled across an interesting point about our outer appearance, in terms of what we wear, to the view of the American (U.S) public. We sound the way people here want us to, and things wouldn't be the same for us if we had a foreign accent.

When I open my mouth to speak, people hear the voice of an American girl and within this voice I know they can hear all the conversations that it echoes about fashion, politics, feminism, and all the red-white-and blue-approved jokes it makes. There's almost no hint of the Arabic recitations I grew up memorizing, or the Urdu I've been speaking for as long as I can remember. They can only hear the sass that's spilled past my teeth and the pledge of allegiance I also grew up reciting. It's the girl next door's voice--she's friendly and welcoming, so there you go! There's no need to be weirdly closed-off to the girl in the scarf shopping next to you now. She speaks English so she like, totally gets it.

If I have the accidental opportunity to remind someone of my American Muslim stereotype then I'll do just fine, remembering that because of my appearance I have to be extra nice and maybe even pipe down if someone says something disagreeable because otherwise I give off a bad impression of like, a billion people.

Even if some by-standers are smarter than to use me as a sole representative, I'll still feel the weight because of what I've seen and what I've experienced so far. I don't mind though, I see it as an opportunity to practice my patience even more, and maybe for once my manners (saying "please" and "thank you" too much apparently) might not be made fun of.

I might as well hold a sign over my head that says "I represent girls in headscarves, and Muslims in general, so I'll work extra hard to prove to you that I am educated, outspoken, and believe in free speech, okay? I'm like, super chill, okay?"

Yeah dude, I listen to the same music as you, and we binge-watch the same shows, wear the same brand of jeans, and eat at the same burger joint. What if we didn't though? What if I was at a level of orthodoxy that made me decide to not listen to music? What if I only wore loose pants and maxi skirts? What if I felt that modern media was becoming more and more mind-numbingly about sex appeal in entertainment and just gave up on it to keep my mind clean (and seek more enriching media)? Would your head spin into frustration as I tried to explain Halal meat to you? What would be left for us to have in common? Just our humanity. Maybe even the desire for respect and to live a fulfilling life. Our different ways of living certain aspects of our lives make it seem like our values are different, but at their core, they're actually very similar.

I know, you don't care about those things. Except that some people do tend to be rubbed the wrong way when someone lives so differently than them, even though the co-existence is happening.

Would you remember that as we stared at each other with blank looks on our faces, from confusion in communication, and a stark difference in how we were dressed? Or would it take a young girl's voice making spunky jokes from behind a veil to remind you that we belong to the same species? Is easier to swallow the differences if the other person at least sounds like you?

So when you encounter someone with an accent, what comes to your mind?

They're from somewhere else. They won't get me, they won't get us, because we don't think the same way. They were raised in a foreign culture.

That could be true, but so what? Even if people don't say it out loud, or realize the impressions in their minds, I know that they consider some accents to reflect a certain level of sophistication. I know because of how these accents are repeated and mocked. I guess its okay if your accent is considered "sexy" or "exotic" though, until the way you speak is fetishized.

(Check out this piece about research from a team at USC on accents and perception.)

A note to people who're losing their accents and second-generation people who never had one: making fun of someone from your background just for having an accent doesn't make you cool. I know you want to revel in the effortless joy of being able to mash with your English-speaking environment while being ethnic and all, but you don't have to compromise your character for it (unless of course, you want to). Making fun of people with different accents isn't classy either.

Imagine the bother if you have to take a few extra seconds out of your day to try and understand someone with an accent. What if their English isn't perfect? How dare they be raised knowing one language, yet they try to communicate with you in another language that they don't know as well. Technically, they try to communicate that way for your convenience because that's the language you speak.

So, what if I entered your store, dressed the way I do with my headscarf, but I didn't have my I-bring-peanut-butter-and-jelly-sandwiches-in-my-lunchbox voice? What if my accent matched what you imagined someone who wears a headscarf sounds like (if you only saw girls like me on the news)? What if you even had to put a little effort in repeating a few words because I had trouble understanding you? And you had to actually pay attention to what I was saying because I have an accent? How differently would you treat me? How differently would you think of people of my background? Would it give you another reason to have any dislike?

I'm not sure if its increased exposure, or my jeans and American-bought dresses, but people in stores do approach me speaking English, and it's all dandy. I pat myself on the back for "breaking stereotypes" and just being an American girl in a scarf, until I remember that I was handed the advantage of being born and raised here, and I didn't even do anything special other than dress just a little differently.

I really enjoyed practicing Spanish at the place I used to work, and the customers were always encouraging with my attempts. There's nothing to brighten your day like a visitor from Argentina enthusiastically saying "Viva Pakistan!" (that's my parent's home country) because she appreciated your help and your attempts at speaking Spanish so much.

When there were customers with close to no English-speaking experience, and I had no understanding of their language either, we took a moment out of our day to ensure that we could find some way to communicate because that's our job. It wasn't the end of the world, it was getting a chance to help someone.

Sure, at first I was a little stressed wondering how I would get through the day not knowing how to communicate properly with a number of customers, and that frustration almost led me to wonder why tourists just couldn't learn at least a little English before visiting, until I remembered that it's not like every American can speak even a sentence of French before visiting France (for one example), but that doesn't stop them.

Why should it though? What rule has been put on this Earth that you have to know a certain language to be present on a certain piece of land? It's our dumb luck that English happens to be widely spoken around the world, and we may not realize it, but because of this factor we English-speakers probably feel more at ease while traveling. People are hustling to save up for vacations and migrations, not everyone can sit down with their Amazon Prime order of a Rosetta Stone kit. Some of us would have to drive all the way to Barnes and Noble.

It's almost a shocker if someone in another country doesn't know at least some English, because it was only imperially forced into so many parts of the world, and low-key still is because of globalization (aren't we lucky that one of our favorite vacation destinations was annexed as the fiftieth state?) How dare people in other countries not try to know English, it's so trendy and like, the third most spoken language in the world! What are they doing with their lives, as we work so hard to read the Google Translate mess off our PowerPoint slides during our Spanish class presentations?

One of my favorite memories at that job was assisting a woman who spoke Hebrew, and gestured towards me to ask if I speak Hebrew as well. Unfortunately I don't, but she and I worked together to assemble an outfit for her granddaughter, and we had a breakthrough in our communication when I showed her some of the sale prices with the calculator. She smiled wide and gave me a hug, and I was glad that she was so happy. It didn't matter that we don't speak each other's mother-tongues, that smile and hug broke barriers that words aren't needed for.

If only I spoke so many other languages outside the few I know. Being bilingual has made me realize how much I miss out on by not knowing even more languages.

Hearing songs in other languages changes the way I think about nature, romance, and spirituality. Most songs in one language tend to promote the same few ideas on such topics.

On Ramadan nights, I sit in a mosque as Arabic recitations go in one out ear and out the other, and suddenly people around me are sniffling. I can't cry even though I missed something so beautiful that I may never understand. Have you ever wished that you were in the place of someone in tears?

Then comes the day I notice that even people who can't understand a language still cry when they hear certain phrases in it. I'm not one of those people, but I've seen it happen. Like in an opera or a sermon. It's like they know that there's a deep beautiful meaning behind what they're hearing, even if no translation can ever justify it or put it into a proper context. It's enough that the speaker/performer feels passionate about the topic and relays it with talent.

I can't sing, but some sort of melody stretches out of my voice when I read Arabic, even though I can't comprehend it. I wouldn't call these sounds a song. It's not something you can hear in a concert or on the radio, it's something beyond. Now I realize the blessing of having the ability to read and speak in other languages and I cross my arms in jealous frustration when I hear people with accents, forgetting the hardships they undergo because of those accents. Can we hear the struggles reflected in an alternative pronunciation? Tales of travel, adaptation, and making a new home out of a foreign place run through my mind now.

I read a Rumi Kaur poem that hits places within me that I'm only discovering, and my next thought is how much more I could've absorbed if I could comprehend the poem in its original language.

Now I know that there are so many ideas and traditions that I'll never really understand because I didn't grow up with the languages that live within those cultures.

So that person with an accent knows things you never can. They may not seem sophisticated to you because they're struggling to speak to you in a language that you already understand, but they know so much in their mother-tongue, maybe even more than you'll ever know in yours.

To everyone who has an accent: I envy you, I wish I could know you better, and I want to sincerely congratulate you for all the things you know that I don't.