And I’m back! I wrote this on the same night as my previous post (‘Thoughts’) because that night I just felt like writing a lot. You know, and this might be linked to things I’ve said before, but people I talk to who say that Maths is better than English because it’s so much more useful. I don’t think they get it though.
Maths may have gotten humankind into space and beyond, but when I say English, I don’t mean the language that I am typing in right now. I mean the human art of speaking, of being able to read and write no matter the actual language. I love the idea that I could spend lifetimes and lifetimes pondering over the English language and there’d be so much I still wouldn’t know. Isn’t that actually amazing? And then I can hardly imagine the literature from other cultures, older cultures. They are probably so complex and unique and unknown. Maths can define the universe, sure, but language can attempt to define humans, and that’s infinitely better.
They say that analysing a book is useless, but honestly there are books out there that are so clever and such a joy to read. It’s the epitome of human intelligence to be able to make people who are from another decade, another century, another world altogether to feel the same emotions that went into the book. These books were written for a reason, be it to prove a point, to spread a message, or for the fun of it.
Let’s be honest, I am talking endlessly about absolutely nothing that matters. But I’m enjoying this diary entry type of posting, so I think I’ll keep doing it. It feels good to write something like this than nothing at all.