This should also be called “Why I’m Forgetful” or “Why I’m An English Major” followed by subsequent odes on the subjects. But I am digressing, and I apologize. First and foremost, let me explain that when I am out and about the streets of New York City, chatting amongst friends, family, and yes even a couple of strangers here and there, my words are a mile a minute, and more often than not the product of my lips moving before my brain can fully process them. It’s not necessarily a bad thing, but sometimes my words are out of line, and could feel like they are breaching a space that shouldn’t, and I really do apologize for that.
So here I am, writing, because my hands are better at talking for my lips while my brain processes it instantly. And I am forever grateful that I can do this.
And this is precisely why I’ve chosen my desired major: English. It wasn’t my love of Shakespeare (which in fact I meet with regularly every semester even if I do not wish to!) nor was it the fact that I have an unruly book addiction (which is all too real, my pockets are all too empty, and my cabinets are all too full!!) but I love it and will continue to get flack on it as is the custom.
However, an even easier reason is because I cannot memorize everything in many other subjects, so I excelled at letting the two fingers I type with exercise more than I work out the rest of my body. That isn’t included to my legs because I walk everywhere and have no elevator where I live. Yet again, I digress, but I am not sorry.
The reason this is important for me, and by this I mean being my English major, is because it means something to me. Life is transfigured and manipulated by miniature ink blots which inevitably come together to form whole words, whole sentences, and whole ideas that paint a truly imaginative movie into my mind. I love to study it, pick it apart, argue why the curtains are blue and what it could possibly mean even though it is just that the curtains and maybe a pen or two are just that: blue.
But my lips won’t articulate it in the way that my mind wants to so I allow my hands to do it for me. And that is what papers and essays and ungodly thesis are for. And as much as I complain about them, because I do indeed complain about them, like what English major doesn’t—I love it. And I’ve stuck with it. Amazingly enough, I was lucky to know that I always wanted to do this:
Articulate. But not through speech, mostly through text.
And you’re reading it. How rad is that?
