I have always
loved words. As a kid I read constantly,
and was always making up stories of my own.
I’ve been drawn to foreign languages since I was eleven, and had
notebooks full of interesting and unusual words that I “collected” all through
high school. And when my undergraduate college
career began, I felt right at home with all the other linguistics majors.
The scientific
study of language has continued to fascinate me, even as my classes went more
and more in-depth into morphology, syntax, phonology, and so forth. The intricacies of language have never ceased
to amaze me. But my love for words goes
beyond what can be expressed in the countless research papers and article
reviews I wrote for my linguistics classes.
That is why I would like to share a creative essay I wrote once in high
school. I had several versions of this
essay, and this is not the original.
However, since this is the only version I can find at the moment, it is
the one I will share.
What is a word? It is intangible, and yet finite. I cannot hold it
in my hand, and yet my hand can create it. It twists and turns with my will,
against my will, captivating my mind. Lexicologists and philosophers unite! Let
us find the meaning behind this thing that starts as an idea in my mind, and
ends as an idea in yours.
In my mind’s
eye, the written word is a prism. It exists already, and can be passed from
person to person, but cannot be brought to life without the illumination of
thought shining through it. My little beam of light collides with the prism and
is shattered into many different colors in your mind as you read this page. The
light that leaves my mind will not be quite the same as the light that enters
yours, but in that way it will seem more beautiful, elusive, and mysterious.
Prisms are my
playthings. I collect them, stack them in different ways, shine light through
them from different angles, to see what different majesty I can create each time.
There are some hippopotomonstrosesquipedalian prisms that I leave at home most
of the time because they are too heavy. But the best ones to play with are the
ordinary words put together in new ways. I fancy flying words that form free,
fanciful, fluttering thoughts. I also admire profound, ponderous words that
produce princely, pontifical philosophy.
Words are
also like pigeons, more a medium of messages than meaning itself. In times of
war, homing pigeons fly high in the sky across enemy territory to deliver
messages vital to the war. Different pigeons can be used to convey the same
message as long as they end up the same place. And even while a pigeon appears
ordinary and only a part of the scenery to a bystander, it can convey the
deepest of meaning to the one for which it was intended.
To me, a
pigeon is the most fascinating creature that exists. I must know every pigeon
that flies by my eyes. If I cannot bend a pigeon to my will, I let it go and
watch where it flies, then find a new part of me that fits the pigeon. I
occasionally enjoy releasing my pigeons in just the right way so they fly right
over someone’s head, dropping treasures from above on them as they soar past.
And what can
a word be if not a sword? For a word, like a sword, can win a victory. Kings
and poets wield their weapons against a common foe; never was a war won but
both fought. The sword is a symbol of victory and leadership, hope uniting
around a common point. The sword has amazing powers to build up and tear down.
My skill with
the sword is yet very small. Mostly now I dream of future victories: I dream of
sailing to distant lands and freeing enslaved minds with my blade, and
journeying back to show others what freedom they take for granted. But besides
dream, I also learn. There are many great swordsmen that I admire, that I have
learned from, and that I hope to continue to follow. My swashbuckling quest
this day is to find a place of training where I can strengthen my arms and
sharpen my sword, preparing me for what lies ahead.
Being as it
were, how can I tell you what a word is, if it is as exquisite as a prism, as
common as a pigeon, and as cunning as a sword? No, I can but tell you that
whatever a word may be, I love it and it is my treasure. These words are a gift
for you, created out of my storehouse, treasured, nurtured, and molded to
delight your eye. All I want in life is to add to them and further refine them
to the glory of God. And so I will, whatever color the prism puts forth,
wherever the pigeon flies, and whatever foes wait to be vanquished or friends
to be freed.
Four years later
as I look back over my undergraduate years, I still love words just as much now
as I did then. My concerns now, however,
are different from what they were then.
Now, I’m worried about finding a job that will support me and pay for
graduate school. Currently, survival is
my highest priority. But my passion for
language is something I know will stick with me, and my hope is that it will be
relevant and useful throughout my career.
