Beyond Words: When Language Becomes a Bridge… and a Wall

The First Music I Heard

French was the first music I heard in this world — not just a language, but a rhythm that shaped my thinking, the colours I saw, and the way I learned to greet people. It carried the weight of home, of family, of belonging.

A Life Built Between Languages

I was multilingual from childhood, like many. Starting at an early age, I never imagined language could be a challenge — it was simply the air I breathed.

Coming from a multicultural background and living in various countries, I learned early that language was more than words — it was survival. French was my anchor, but each move brought a new tongue to master, a new way of shaping sentences to belong. I learned others not as a hobby, but as a lifeline — a way to find my place in unfamiliar streets, to connect with strangers who might one day become friends.

When Language Becomes a Wall

As I grew, I realised that many people did not speak more than one language, and for some, even trying was a source of discomfort. My own accents shifted without warning, as though they had a mind of their own. People noticed; I noticed them noticing. Occasionally, someone would try to imitate me. I didn’t take offence — I had already learned that accents tell a story, and mine had plenty to say.

For years, I believed that if everyone could hear each other’s first language, we might understand one another better. Yet the older I grew, the more I saw that language can also be a wall. A way to draw lines between “us” and “them.” A test you must pass to be welcomed. A quiet force that divides the very world it should unite.

The Bridges We Lose Through Silence

I’ve always loved languages — I speak eight and have loved learning more. A few have slipped away through lack of use, though they return faintly when I hear them spoken. They’re still there somewhere, waiting for the right conversation to wake them. I can often understand but not respond, and that gap can feel like standing on the edge of a bridge you cannot quite cross.

The Growing Trend of Enforced Localisation

In recent years, I’ve noticed a worrying trend. Across the world, enforcing the local language is becoming the norm — in workplaces, in education, in public life. This might seem harmless, even practical, yet it often undermines equity, diversity, and inclusion. It can lead to quiet exclusion, unspoken discrimination, and sometimes outright abuse.

Accents Are Not Flaws

I’ve met people whose accents are mocked, as though the melody of their speech is something to be erased. What many forget is that an accent is not a flaw — it is evidence of courage. It shows that someone has stepped beyond the safety of their mother tongue, learning in a different context, shaping new sounds with old instincts.

My Own Lingual Challenges

For me, South East Asian and Chinese languages remain my greatest challenge — not because they are less beautiful, but because I had no exposure to them until recently. Others I can make sense of, yet without regular practice, the words slip away; and written and spoken forms are often worlds apart.

From Global Connection to Local Borders

In a time when technology has shrunk distances and we can speak to someone across the globe in seconds, our focus has shifted to localisation instead of globalisation. Instead of building bridges, we are sometimes building borders — rewarding those who sound “native” and side-lining those who don’t.

A Language to Unite

I am not suggesting we abandon local languages; each carries its own beauty, history, and cultural soul. But perhaps alongside them, we need a truly universal or international language — a shared language not to replace but to unite. One that makes connection our first instinct, not judgement.

Because when words become walls, understanding stops. And when understanding stops, empathy fades.

The Question

If language is meant to connect us, why do we let it keep us apart? Have you ever felt words draw you in — or shut you out?