What are words? Merely strings of meaningless letters bridging together foreign ideas. But, that is only but a superficial view of the enormous power of words. These little pieces of abstract intangible things hold amazing power over the human psyche. One can compare and label words as anything: a weapon, an expression, an enemy, a friend, jewellery, power, or even nothing at all. But whatever you label it as, the insidious scope of words transcends the imagination of its creators. Words are a huge body of living, breathing things that exist in a plane of existence higher than ours. They are really, one of the most inexplicable things we humans have created, and therein is my interest in words.
This fascination of words didn’t really come to me in the beginning. I thought words to merely be tools, like a sickle or something like that. But, eventually, as I started reading books and started delving into that world of words, I realized these tools were much more. And that was basically why I started writing. But this begs the questions:
Am I a writer; a person who uses words to his/her best ability to give out to the word?
Am I a word-user; merely a person who uses words as a means of communication?
Am I an opportunist; a person who uses words as a planner, to turn any situation to my advantage?
Am I a fake; a person who convinces himself and the world that he likes words while he couldn’t care less?
What I would like to be categorized as; to be labelled as is a friend of words; someone who is with those little things at the best of times, and at the worst of times.
But is that really true? What am I?
Well, I am not sure, and I do not know how I can solve this conundrum. Learn another language, perhaps?
All I know is this: I appreciate the power words hold, and I also appreciate their intrinsic fragility and sublimity, and I feel tingles (I resonate if that makes more sense) while playing with words.
Now, I leave this post inconclusive, and will update it later (probably after learning a new language)…