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His chapter on words was especially interesting because he advises us to be more aware of our writing, our choices and to stay true to your emotions by choosing words that convey our most immediate intention. This is something I can relate to, or rather be ashamed of admitting that I have been a victim of verbose compositions. I always thought as long as your vocabulary is rich, no one will ever “impugn” your writing prowess. But as I “mature” as a writer, I started realizing how important honesty is for your craft. Now, what is honesty? Honesty here is embracing something in your writing that is indispensable: something that is not contrived to give your story a plot drive or something that is not excessive or forced, just because you want to show your readers this other set of skills you might possess. I have many times betrayed my feelings by choosing expressions, or words in this particular scenario, that demanded more awe than the real “signified.”
This gradation and spectrum of meanings that synonyms possess is an asset that a lot of us overlook. It is amazing sometimes what these variations can teach our sensory cognition. Sometimes, only after we are told the difference between two seemingly similar words, do we start to differentiate two seemingly similar sensations– I know my revelations are as scientific as Freud’s, perhaps even less so. I think it’s not merely an exercise to hone your writing skills, but also an opportunity for our senses to discern the details of our existence.
Not the teller anymore
2010 was an eventful year in many ways. It was my first and probably the only year when I got to live in the city, New York City that is, for the entire length of its span: Partying into the wee hours of the morning and blowing my money as if I were the heir apparent of a kingdom. It was the year after I came of age, and felt if I was coming into myself more and more as the months passed by. I also started developing a strong affinity towards literature and finally found an excuse to pursue institutional learning—an appellation not without a pejorative undertone—once again; in effect I was going to give college another chance. I had played with the idea sporadically and perfunctorily until one day, brimmed with frustration from taking everyone’s non-sense, as a server at a restaurant (Tokubie 86), I decided to sit down and forge a letter filled with such redemptive sentiments that would evoke the sympathy of even the cruelest debt-collector. And forge I did.
On December 22nd of that year, as usual, I was crawling my way to work and literally two blocks short of getting there was when I received an email from my college. It was a confirmation with details about my accommodation at Union College—the recipient of the aforementioned letter. I still remember being at the door of a Starbucks café and telling myself, “The hell with Tokubei, I am going to finish “Brave New World” today.” My euphoria got amplified with each cup of coffee, and after justifying and putting an objective spin to this emotion, the happiness still felt like an absolute reality—an emotion strong enough to duel with the desolation of death. After several attempts from my colleagues to contact me and understand my absence, ask they did, but I did not tell. I was not the one obliged to tell any longer. Obama, on the other hand, was completely revoking “Don’t ask, don’t tell” policy that day.
