The Aesthetic of Language.
She served languages for dinner, mixing up with a cocktail of sounds and words. Evenings with friends wasn’t much about the food but rather about the freedom of speaking different languages, even though many of them often didn’t understand what was said. The conversations were so intense so they would forget what languages they spoke. Languages were served very elegantly following each person on the table. Everyone was welcomed. She was multilingual, and the ability to switch languages fast fascinated the others. To her speaking different languages was not a luxury but a necessity. Multiple languages were hard-wired into her brain. The monolingual world was abstract to her. Speaking one language was actually exhausting to her.
How could you do that? Sometimes people would ask curiously hearing her switching languages. She had no answer to that question. When speaking, her brain switched languages so elegantly that she was not even aware of the process.
How did her brain switch the languages? She often asked herself that question. It required the plasticity of millions of neurons. A decoding evolution in the brain. The alteration in her neuronal pathways was elegant. Languages were the offspring of the brain, the ultimate communication gate.
Languages were profoundly beautiful to her. She was in love, especially with the non-translated words. Those words belonged to themselves. Too fragile to translate such a beauty. The serendipity of words fascinated her even more. To her language was no repetitive, like romance. The infinite number of combined ways to assemble words was not tiring to her brain but rather exciting.
What about love? How beautiful to say it or hear it in so many sounds, – friends always asked her. Beautiful indeed. All the languages spoken around love transformed into living things. In such sounds, beauty was spread around in the form of language. It was erotically instrumental. The sexuality of language was irreplaceable. The sounds were not innocent but they were selfless and seductive. Often resembled the sounds of the wind, bird’s song, nature’s whispers, breathing, and laughing. The language of love was ornate. Each language was drunk with the elixir of love and vice versa. At times seemed like an infinite courtship of sounds, consonants, and vowels. Love was the emancipation of the languages. The language was love.
Her dinner table was a rite of the words with unaccounted sounds throughout languages. The love of many words gazed at her mixed with the pleasure of food. She was caressed like a child as if they had the right to do so. The holiday atmosphere around her dinner table unfolded slowly as it never wanted to be dissolved, fearless of the long night hours. The pleasure of conversation made the evening gallant. She often observed the nature of such evenings with adoration. Suddenly even the wine tasted better when mixed with an unidentified beautiful linguistic accent.
FATJONA R. LUBONJA (2017) THE DAYS THAT LEFT WITHOUT PERMISSION ©