Anna Matsushita

There was a deafening bang, followed by a deep, rumbling tremor that shook the ground beneath me.   The elderly pedestrians all dropped to the pavement in unison, as if rehearsed.   Across the street, an old man lay flat on his stomach, waving urgently in my direction. “Down!” he bellowed.   Instinct took over. I flung myself onto the pavement without a second thought.   Moments later, the wail of sirens filled the air—fire engines, ambulances, police cars, all racing past in a blur of flashing lights.   And then, just as swiftly as they had dived for cover, the prone figures around me picked themselves up, dusted themselves off, and strode away as though nothing had happened.   I had arrived in Britain in the 1980's at the age of fourteen, dragged along by my parents on account of my father’s job. I hadn’t wanted to come. Life had been perfectly fine back home, thank you very much. Germany was still split into East and West, Marga...

  Permit me to indulge in a bit of nostalgic musing, a reminiscence from nearly forty years ago. At the time, my family had relocated to London due to my father’s work. As a result, I found myself attending an international school in the city, and, after a spell, transferring to another one. London, even then, was a vibrant mosaic of cultures, a veritable melting pot of peoples. Yet, these two schools, both ostensibly “international,” had strikingly different demographics. The first school I attended had only a sprinkling of British students. The rest of the cohort hailed predominantly from the Middle East, Asia, and Africa, with a significant number adhering to the Islamic faith. This was, of course, decades ago, and one imagines the mix has shifted since. At that time, however, it was clear: the school’s corridors echoed with a rich blend of accents and languages from these regions. What struck me most was how forthcoming everyone was about their origins. It was as if announcing ...

     "Whoa, you can like, speak English? No way, like a native or something!" This was a catchphrase of a former supervisor during my time at a certain company. He seemed to believe that calling someone “native” just because they could use a bit of English would somehow flatter them. It struck me as shallow.   In the professional world, whether during meetings, business exchanges, or social dinners, I’ve had numerous opportunities to use English. Over time, I’ve observed two ideals emerge:   *Achieving near-native fluency in English is, of course, desirable.   *Yet, equally critical is the ability to communicate effectively with those for whom English is not their mother tongue.   These ideals reflect a challenging paradox.   The Challenge of Non-Native Communication   Having attended an international high school, one of the most valuable lessons I gained wasn’t just English proficiency—it was the ability to comm...