Hi! My name is Irene. I lived in Bangkok, Thailand my entire life before I came to Boston for college in 2013. If we have never met, you might be surprised to hear my “perfect” accent when I talk. Many people I know define a “perfect” accent as perfectly American, so much so that with eyes closed, you might even assume that I was born and raised in California or Massachusetts. How is it possible for me to have never lived in the U.S. prior to attending college here and still speak English without an accent?

For me, coming to America to obtain a college degree was always on the horizon: I attended international schools my entire academic career (a privilege not every Thai has access to) and graduated from a school that prepared me well for an undergraduate experience in this country. In the moments leading up to high school graduation, my class experienced mandatory (and unspeakably necessary, in retrospect) lectures and workshops on assimilating to a new cultural environment when we leave the international community many of us had taken for granted.

I recall little from these sessions, but recently took a step back to realize I had been preparing myself for an American college education and the mere experience of living here throughout my entire life. I watched and sang to the music from "Fame" as a child and became a fan of "High School Musical" at 13. I watched Richard Linklater’s films with my movie-crazed, couch-loving wonder-of-a-mother, grew up and connected with my first boyfriend over our shared love for "When Harry Met Sally." I listened to Sara Bareilles, fun., and Jack Johnson on the MRT on my way to school. My tastebuds were conditioned to enjoy pumpkin pie even though I do not celebrate Thanksgiving. Adjusting to America, therefore, was not a task I had to struggle with. What I had to contribute to my college’s community was not questioned because my bizarrely American accent meant that people had no trouble understanding me and I assimilated to this place rather seamlessly.

I struggle, however, to say that I have seen a similar degree of effort from some of my American peers, particularly those who have chosen to attend a diverse college. I cannot discount that my experience with a private, international education is a privileged one. I deeply recognize that this opportunity is financially exclusive and, therefore, limited to a select population and I am unbelievably grateful for it. Even so, the “how-have-you-never-heard-of-X” conversation, where X is a predominantly American cultural icon or reference, has happened more than one too many times since I moved to the United States. I never cared about N-SYNC, or The Backstreet Boys; growing up, we studied WWII from the U.K.’s perspective, but never memorized the names of U.S. presidents in school. I don’t celebrate Thanksgiving or Easter, but splash water at friends and strangers in April for the Thai new year because my country gets really hot that time of the year.

It does not concern me that some of my American peers do not understand my country’s messed up politics or how, in Thailand, Buddhism is as much a socio-cultural construct as it is a religious one. But it does concern me that the gaps of my American cultural awareness somehow hurt my credibility. It concerns me that my limited knowledge of The Civil War is seen by some as evidence of an unfinished education. If I don’t expect you to know about Fan Chan or Shutter, two of the most iconic Thai movies in my generation, maybe I should not be expected to know the theme song to "Spongebob," or "The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air" by default either.

America has made it incredibly easy for its people to live and stay in this country. All is familiar, from the predictability of a Target in any corner of the country to the simple truth that English, a language most other nations learn secondary to their mother tongue, is the country’s predominant and official language. It is dangerous to assume that one’s lived experience is the standard and everybody else’s perspectives are deviants from that standard. It is dangerous to dismiss that there is always, always more to learn about what this complex, nuanced world is made up of and where you stand within it. The privilege of diversity comes with a responsibility to always strive for a sounder understanding of the world’s myriad of cultural and ethnic backgrounds. The moment this learning stops is the moment diversity turns into a potential fault-line, rather than an opportunity for growth and collaboration.