I am lucky enough to love languages. I am sure some might think that have an unhealthy obsession with them, and, maybe, they are not wrong.
I mean I sometimes feel like a hunter, a linguistic hunter, who is never satisfied with its prizes.
I always must get more.
One of my favorite ways to learn more about languages is reading. I love reading, I could read until the end of life. And beyond. But the thing is that every time, I come across an unknown word, I need to know what it needs.
I mean I must know, as if discovering its essence would, somehow, make me an accomplice of its adventures and playfulness.
Why do I go through so much trouble? Some may ask. And to be baldy honest, I don’t know. I seriously don’t know.
I think deep down, where the subconscious lives, I have the need to connect with people, to understand them, to comprehend their behavior and to find out what moves them. Because if I can understand people around me, then I might be able to understand myself. Maybe.