I love words. I
wouldn’t be an English major if I didn’t.
I love to form sentences, I love to learn new vocabulary, and I love to
use words in new and interesting ways. I
love people who have good grammar, and I love jokes about people who have bad
grammar. But even to me, it’s slightly
bewildering just how many words there are in the world.
Take a look
around you. Where do you see words? In my dorm room, there are words on the
postcards pinned to my door, words on my water bottle and my tube of lotion,
words on the note that reminds me to floss my teeth, stupid. There are thousands upon thousands of words
on the bookshelf behind me. Words on my
printer, printed on my window, even in my clothes, sheets, and towels.
It wasn’t
always this way. Today an admission of
illiteracy is a shocking announcement.
Even two hundred years ago, though, the majority of the world didn’t
know how to read. It was reserved for
the elite, for those who could afford to send their children to school. Looking further back, we come across entire
cultures who didn’t feel the need for a written language. Their histories and legends came down to the
next generation by word of mouth, and it seemed to work well enough.
Now, I’m
not saying that I wish it were still that way.
English major, remember? I just
think it’s strange how much things have changed. Words have become something completely
different from what they once were for us.
All they are, really, are symbols, lines and spaces that represent
something else. But try to look at a
word now and see only that, the symbols that make it up. You can’t, can you? Your brain automatically makes something else
out of it. It’s nearly impossible for
us, now, not to read something that
we come across. It happens that quickly
and easily.
Sometimes I
do look at words and realize just how funny-looking they are. How does this make sense, I wonder? What is the connection that my brain makes
between the black etch marks that make out the word lesson and make me think of my conducting class, singing, dull repetitive
homework assignments, and Lewis Carroll, all in one? This is what language does for us. It’s wonderful, but very strange.
Then again, there are many things in life
that are.
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