About five years ago I visited Tokyo, Japan for a week. It was an amazing experience. It also left me feeling incredibly homesick after only a few days. The language barrier was mentally exhausting, and all I wanted was to speak to someone who was fluent in English.
Then one night, while waiting by the statue of Hachikō near Shibuya Station, I overheard a small group of British tourists. Sure, they had different accents and occasionally used unfamiliar slang, but they were speaking my language. It was music to my ears. I didn't introduce myself or attempt to strike up a conversation. I just continued my innocent eavesdropping until my friend arrived. Turns out the simple act of hearing a familiar language was enough of a reminder of home, even if San Diego is a world away from London.
Since moving to Australia I haven't felt this same longing. While their English is different, I have access to enough American television, films, and podcasts to sate my appetite for American accents. So when my boyfriend asked if the aircrew's American accents reminded me of home, I replied, "No. Not really." I hear English every day. The accents have become somewhat irrelevant over the past nine months.
Then the gentleman sitting next to me asked a flight attendant if she spoke Spanish. She did, and they proceeded to have a short conversation about where they were from, where they lived, and which custom forms he would need upon landing. After relating their conversation to my boyfriend, he smiled and asked, "Does that remind you of home?"
Yes, it absolutely does.
