A century or two ago there was a linguistic shift in the use of certain consonants in what we call the Romance languages (French, Spanish, Italian, Portuguese, and Romanian). One of the most evident shifts was that of 'f' to 'h' in certain words. This little bit of knowledge(more) reveals connections we might not otherwise make.
For instance, 'fumar' in Spanish means 'to smoke', while 'el humo' means 'the smoke'. 'F' to 'h'. Or the fact that the word for oven is 'forno' in Italian and 'horno' in Spanish. 'Hunger' in Spanish is 'hambre', while in French it is 'faim', which we still see in English as a root for 'famine' and 'famished'. There are dozens fo examples like this that tie together these languages.
I like knowing this, and I like it because it adds to the web of knowledge I use to interpret the world and makes it more complete. French to Spanish and Spanish to Italian and then all tied back again to English: it all makes *sense*. I can use it as a clue for understanding languages that I don't know, or even things about my own language that I never would have imagined. For a moment, while looking at something closely, it seems self-supporting and integrated, which is a kind of beauty. The rest of the world either doesn't bother to make that kind of sense; it isn't beautiful or elegant.
Or, perhaps, I'm just not interested enough in the rest of the world to see it at that level of detail. Either way, I'm lucky to have something that fascinates me enough to make part of the world beautiful.(less)
one of the
is that when
(more) the f word
it still pertains
to me being a
and not being
they don't know
because, oh, how
quickly the use
of the f word
in our house
I took the sacrament into my body and could feel it integrating with my mind. The spirit fused my senses into one so I could better apprehend her message (though it still was not always clear).
I cannot relate what it was she imparted to me for it was beyond(more) words, beyond language. I can only say that I knew that everything I have ever done, and everything I would ever do has meaning and impact. She communicated to me that I was safe and that I did not need to be afraid. An intense feeling of unworthiness that I did not fully understand caused me to weep in her presence.
I knew then that I had Freedom. That I could choose and that it all mattered.
The first time you hear it, you're four years old, bright eyed and innocent as a cherub. Your dad is shouting at your mom, throwing one of his huge anatomy books at her. She's crying, her raccoon like mascara staining her heavily painted face. He yells, "Fuck you, Mari!(more) Better yet, let that no good Mexican drug lord of a thug fuck you. You better run. You're never seeing her, or me, again." She leaves sullenly, with silent sobs, and a tattered knapsack adorning her taut yet heavily distressed body. You never see her again. Your dad runs to hug you, and you let him, not realizing this embrace is like a death knell. You didn't know that adult word, and its very adult meaning would pervade your life. You hear it again and again, as you walk down the streets lined with pornographic graffiti towards your tiny apartment that you share with your father, aunt, and little sister. Guys yell it at you, when you're walking home from the library at 9 at night. "Hey girl, you fine! Let me fuck you, senorita! You've never had dick as sweet as this one, honey!" You silently walk away from the obscenity, but you've know realized the f word that you thought very little of at 4 has ruined your life, only 10 years later. (less)