The Chameleon

I was talking to a friend who told me that she could tell the ethnicity of the person I was talking to before her by the way I sounded at the beginning of a conversation. I laughed. She was right. I’m not really sure when I started to do it, but I do it all the time. I replicate the intonation and pattern of speech of the person I’m talking to. Which means if I’m around my Mexican family and friends (or Taco Bell, lol), I sound like a Mexican. With my friends back home it takes on a relaxed slang vibe. And in the professional world, I could be the CEO. I do it unconsciously. I guess in business, it’d be great diplomacy. So I fit, walking around Spanish Harlem, teaching middle schoolers in the Bronx, attending some caviar serving function at the Waldorf Astoria, or a penthouse dinner on Central Park West and 76th. I organically meld with all of them. My counselor called me a chameleon. Maybe it’s because no one can really figure out what I am (Greek, French, Persian, Russian, Brazilian, Spanish, Puerto Rican, German, etc. etc.) that I don’t completely stick out too much of anywhere. Or maybe it’s the fact that I rarely feel out of place wherever I am. I just adapt and go with it. I don’t change into a different person (or I might have joined the CIA). I just refine my mannerisms and dialect (though now I’m thinking I might be a good CIA candidate). Then who am I when I’m not blending into the world around me? Good question. The most authentic...me in my room thinking and not saying a word.