Learning a Language

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To be honest, I’ve never really known what I want to do with my life, I still don’t. I sometimes think I’m the wrong place, doing the wrong thing at the wrong time and it’s so confusing because I’m growing up too fast and I’m not going to be anyone’s responsibility and that scares me. Being responsible for myself terrifies me and probably the only good thing about this is that I can admit it. I mean isn’t the first step to solving a problem admitting there is one, to begin with. But I justify my fear by saying aren’t we are terrified of being responsible for our actions, and what we are, blaming and having reasons to do and want things is easier.

I’m learning a language, and I’m actually proud of myself. There was a time when I wanted to study Linguistics in college and learn etymologies and structure and all of the amazing things we can do with words and how we form them, and how words change across the globe, what word is taken from what language… I wanted to know it all. It’s safe to say reality kicked in when I realised there is no “scope” for a major like that because let’s face it, how do you pay the bills, who’d hire you to tell you what a bunch of words mean, and where they come from. My major would just serve as good dinner conversation, that is, if I could afford to have a lavish dinner table to sit around and well boast my wordiness. I actually have a hilarious image of myself doing just that.

But I divert, I always divert, it’s one of my other problems. But I am learning a language, I think this is something I may be doing more for my self-acceptance more than anything else, but I like it, it consumes me. In a new language, you can be a new person, with new ticks, new sensibilities. It’s so empowering, so liberating.

I think I’m inconclusive by nature, I’m having trouble understanding myself.

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