A story about online comments, early immigrant years, and why I never took xenophobia personally.
This is the kind of story that starts with a comment on YouTube… and ends with a long walk down memory lane. If you’d rather watch the video version — it’s right here in English and in Russian. But if you’re in the mood for a quiet read, stay a bit. Let’s talk.
So… Someone Left a Nasty Comment
Okay, I’ll admit it — I don’t always read comments under my videos.
But that day, I happened to scroll through the ones under my car-fire video. Most were fine. A few were grumpy. And then… this one:
“YOU are just a typical anti-American foreigner, not welcome here. Go back to YOUR 3rd world hellhole.”
Yikes, right?
But instead of getting mad — I laughed.
Then I replied with kindness (and maybe a little sass). I told them that kind of hatred usually comes from pain. That blaming people who sound different won’t fix what’s broken inside.
They deleted the comment.
Then reposted a new one accusing me of deleting their comment.
So I answered again:
“Come on, just admit it — you fell for the accent.”
After that, I stopped replying. But something about the whole thing stuck with me.
Why do people hate so quickly — just from hearing a voice?
Big Word, Familiar Feeling
“Xenophobia.” Sounds like something out of a textbook.
But really, it’s just fear. Fear of anything unfamiliar. A name you don’t recognize. A face that looks different. An accent.
It doesn’t always come with shouting.
Sometimes it’s just silence.
You’re not invited. Not included. You feel it in the way people look at you — like you’ve already done something wrong just by existing.
And no, it’s not the same as racism. Racism is usually about race.
Xenophobia is broader. It shows up when you sound different. Dress different. Even smile different.
It’s like the world quietly saying, “You’re not one of us.”
Where I Come From, Everyone Had an Accent
I was born in the Soviet Union — back when it was still a thing.
Later, we moved to Ukraine, just before the USSR broke apart.
I grew up surrounded by all kinds of people. Armenians, Chechens, Jews, Russians, Uzbeks, Yakuts — sometimes in the same village. It wasn’t a big deal. We all played together. Ate together. Picked berries in the forest together.
Sure, there were stereotypes — like everywhere.
But no one thought your accent made you less intelligent.
In fact, it meant you were interesting.
That changed in 1991.
Suddenly, we were citizens of “new” countries.
And suddenly, some accents became “wrong.”
America, 1993: Me, a Dictionary, and a Note
We legally immigrated to the U.S. in 1993.
No welfare. Just work. I didn’t even have a car.
My English? Let’s just say… it was creative. About 300 words, zero grammar.
So I wrote a note, phonetically:
“I am sorry I do not speak English. I am looking for a job.”
I walked from business to business, showing it to people.
Most said no. Some smiled politely and moved on.
And then I tried Safeway — this big, shiny grocery store that looked way out of my league.
But something inside me whispered: Go in anyway.
So I did.
A man — the manager, turns out — read my note, smiled, and said:
“I don’t speak Russian… but I do have a job for you.”
That’s how I got hired as a grocery bagger.
He even taught me to say: “Would you like a help out?”
It was my first phrase — and it felt like gold.
Not Everyone Was That Kind
There were rude people too.
One guy mocked my accent after I turned down his invitation for a date.
A woman told me I couldn’t check “white” on a form — because I wasn’t born in the U.S.
At a different Safeway, a manager made me repeat everything three times — even though my English was solid by then. He didn’t do that to others.
That’s when it hit me:
It’s not really about the language.
Sometimes people just want to remind you — you don’t belong here.
I knew what it was: immigrant accent discrimination.
And still — I never got bitter.
Because I remembered: where I come from, diversity didn’t scare people.
It made life richer.
I’ve Still Got My Accent — And Zero Shame About It
Fast forward 32 years.
I still have an accent.
Still get the occasional raised eyebrow.
Still sometimes hear: “Sorry, we can’t hire someone with that voice.”
And you know what?
I just smile and think:
“Your loss. I’m awesome. I’m kind, smart, hardworking, and a great coworker. If you can’t hear that through my accent — that’s on you.”
Then I move on.
Knock on a different door.
Trust that when the time is right, God will open the right one.
If You’re Going Through Something Similar…
Maybe people mock your accent.
Or pretend they “can’t understand.”
Or assume you’re uneducated because you speak with an extra twist of syllables.
Please hear me:
Your accent is not something to fix.
It’s proof that you know more than one world.
That your story began somewhere else — and still continues here.
You’ve got strength most people never needed to build.
You’ve got courage just for trying — and grace for keeping your heart open.
Don’t let their fear harden you.
Let it deepen your kindness.
That’s real strength.
And if it gets hard (and it will), remember:
You’re not alone.
God walks beside you.
And sometimes? He carries you through.
1 Corinthians 10:13: He will not let you be tested beyond what you can bear.
One Day, Your Voice Will Be Someone’s Hope
Somewhere out there is a person struggling just like you did.
And one day, they’ll hear your voice — accent and all — and think:
“If they made it… maybe I can too.”
💭 That’s my kitchen table rambling for today.
Maybe I’m overthinking it… or maybe — not.
Share your thoughts — let’s figure it out together.
EN 
RU