I’ve spent a few hours studying for the test I’m taking the day after tomorrow. And what do I feel? Anger. “This is bullshit,” I tell myself. Nobody even cares what languages are for anymore. Right or left, it doesn’t matter; it’s win or lose, nothing in between. You either understand it or you don’t. No space for imagination. I  try to read the intention of the test maker while  taking it and wonder how mediocre he must be to spend his life creating something like this. He’s using language to determine who’s superior mechanically, like separating chicks by sex.

No, no, it wasn’t supposed to be that way. Language was supposed to build a bridge. A bridge between you and me. Not to separate us.  Without it, we would never be able to understand each other, and so we invented the word “Hello.”

Like anything else, language is a tool. It isn’t proof of intelligence. Just because you know the definition of a word, it doesn’t mean you’re intelligent. In fact, maybe we need words precisely because we aren’t intelligent enough to understand each other without them. And so, my love for the girl who is speechless feels real. I tell her what words are for, and she looks into my eyes and observes me carefully. “Maybe she’s trying to tell me something important??” An inquisitive eye. I feel her heart opening, waiting for words to absorb.

I try to tell her whatever I can with as few words as possible. Like this,  “I’m not angry because you don’t do it. I’m angry because you can.” She understands, sits down next to me, and begins to learn. This is what language is for. She gives me hope because she notices the vibration underneath my words.

Maybe I work to feel love—to empower those who feel powerless because of language. It’s just a tool. What matters is what’s beneath it: your emotion. If language is a mere weapon to feel superior, it’s meaningless. I don’t feel any value in it. I fold my ears and close my heart. “There is nothing to gain here.This is a desert, " and I walk through it, developing a thirst for water. And then I encounter the girl who's speechless, who gives me enough water to survive.

Yesterday, I talked to a boy I haven’t spoken to in years. He found me online, said hi, and we started chatting. He didn’t remember me at all. But as we talked, I noticed that although years had passed, he hadn’t changed a thing about himself. And because he had aged without changing, his words felt dry and bland, nothing I wanted to pay attention to. Maybe that’s what happens when you do nothing to overcome what frustrates you: you become dry and bitter. What a boring life. And me? I’m moist and sweet, living like a bum with a dictionary in my hand