meaning ebbs, meaning flows, who knows where passion goes
"what will you do after you graduate? syntax? socioling?"
she is copying my unfinished set of transcriptions of words containing aspirated stops and labialized vowels. it's busy work. we've been trading back and forth all semester long. i sip my coffee.
"to be honest? i'm not really bent on continuing with lang-nas-ticks." i lower the /a/. i drag it through the dirt in my mouth.
"oh. you should be studying something you're passionate about. why would you spend so much money and time on something you hate?" she's making minor corrections to my work, adding diacritics i haven't yet learned. i don't care. i sip my coffee.
"i don't hate it, and it doesn't cost me anything."
"oh."
"just burnt out maybe."
i don't know her well. i could speak louder, but she's preoccupied.
"kit-ten," she says, "but-ton. battle. butter." she likes to tell me about ways in which her speech is different from that of others. argumentative, but dreamy. staunchly believes her eyes can change color depending on the weather in her brain.
"isn't it weird that," here she goes; here it comes, "i put a glottal stop in some words but i flap the ones that don't end in /n/?"
"i guess?" my disinterest doesn't faze her sincere curiosity with herself. i watch her mouth move carefully. ambiguous fragment. it moves mindfully, full of self-awareness and joy.
"kit-ten. kitten. kit...ten. battle..." her eyes look up. they are blue. i imagine they have always been that way. there is nothing to meaning here, and our responsibilities often include repeating a word until we don't recognize it any longer. a motion, a place, a manner. "kitten battles" carry about as much sway with me as "client's eyes" and "symbolism." my mind wanders.
"you really should study something you're passionate about." i feel myself becoming irritated, like i didn't know this already. i wanted to rewind the film, swing the hinges back on my skull, point authoritatively at my thoughts. "look," i would begin, "i love words. i like to play. this is me playing. i love meaning. i like to stretch it and twist it around my fingers. i believe language is bigger than the symbols we use to represent it. i've felt more from one hand tentatively reaching for my own behind my back than from any stupid thing i've been told aloud in a classroom. i stand here before you as someone who studied this because it's a foundation. i need the rules because i want more than anything to break them."
i sipped my coffee.
"yeah. i feel like i'm just tired."
"oh. kit-ten. butter. but-ter."
motion, place, manner. i silently map my experience, repeating the moments until i don't recognize them any longer. the meaning swells and contracts.
"bat-tul. battle. bat-tel. battle. battle."
i close my eyes. a mantra for passion.
she is copying my unfinished set of transcriptions of words containing aspirated stops and labialized vowels. it's busy work. we've been trading back and forth all semester long. i sip my coffee.
"to be honest? i'm not really bent on continuing with lang-nas-ticks." i lower the /a/. i drag it through the dirt in my mouth.
"oh. you should be studying something you're passionate about. why would you spend so much money and time on something you hate?" she's making minor corrections to my work, adding diacritics i haven't yet learned. i don't care. i sip my coffee.
"i don't hate it, and it doesn't cost me anything."
"oh."
"just burnt out maybe."
i don't know her well. i could speak louder, but she's preoccupied.
"kit-ten," she says, "but-ton. battle. butter." she likes to tell me about ways in which her speech is different from that of others. argumentative, but dreamy. staunchly believes her eyes can change color depending on the weather in her brain.
"isn't it weird that," here she goes; here it comes, "i put a glottal stop in some words but i flap the ones that don't end in /n/?"
"i guess?" my disinterest doesn't faze her sincere curiosity with herself. i watch her mouth move carefully. ambiguous fragment. it moves mindfully, full of self-awareness and joy.
"kit-ten. kitten. kit...ten. battle..." her eyes look up. they are blue. i imagine they have always been that way. there is nothing to meaning here, and our responsibilities often include repeating a word until we don't recognize it any longer. a motion, a place, a manner. "kitten battles" carry about as much sway with me as "client's eyes" and "symbolism." my mind wanders.
"you really should study something you're passionate about." i feel myself becoming irritated, like i didn't know this already. i wanted to rewind the film, swing the hinges back on my skull, point authoritatively at my thoughts. "look," i would begin, "i love words. i like to play. this is me playing. i love meaning. i like to stretch it and twist it around my fingers. i believe language is bigger than the symbols we use to represent it. i've felt more from one hand tentatively reaching for my own behind my back than from any stupid thing i've been told aloud in a classroom. i stand here before you as someone who studied this because it's a foundation. i need the rules because i want more than anything to break them."
i sipped my coffee.
"yeah. i feel like i'm just tired."
"oh. kit-ten. butter. but-ter."
motion, place, manner. i silently map my experience, repeating the moments until i don't recognize them any longer. the meaning swells and contracts.
"bat-tul. battle. bat-tel. battle. battle."
i close my eyes. a mantra for passion.