At home, in my sock drawer, I keep a piglet notebook.
About halfway through, I have my first worded entry, cappuccino.
I can clearly jump back into my six year old mind, looking at the page, My word was so beautiful, so external.
I spelled it wrong, and wrote it crooked. But continued and rhymed it with my favorite horse on the next page, a palomino.
Sometimes, certain things just click.
This is the way I've been with language since that day in '99.
If I could score a job using this love, now that would just do the trick.
Even if I didn't make a cent, I'd sign on the dotted line.
I don't have a degree to prove I'm a "Linguist".
It's sad to me that money is needed to buy that knowledge.
Everyday, I study languages, read, listen, look, wonder, I can't relinquish.
I wish the love of it could be enough, not just the means for college.
People ask me, "What can you possibly do with this life path you've planned?"
I can't help but ask, "How do you expect to get where you're going?"
By sharing ideas? Changing? Establishing with an institution?
None would be possible without your given gift of language.
Each and every one of us share a bubble.
You can't run from it, we're born to solidify our identity.
I wonder why we don't have a world language, how could that cause trouble?
Wouldn't all our barriers be broken down, increasing flexibility?
Wouldn't trade be simplified?
Wouldn't ideas flow freely?
This is what I study, and what I'll one day understand.