This afternoon, while at a tea party with my lovely
neighbors, one of them mentioned how he had purloined the word
"kismet" from me. He had had
someone look at him strangely as it popped out of his mouth as easily as it has,
on many occasions, popped out of mine.
And it made me think about language and words. Specifically favorite words.
We all have our favorite words. For some they may be more succinct and
steeped in cultural symbolism.
"Fuck" or "shit", for instance. Some people's favorite words have lost their
meaning, words of a different time.
Words like "gay" that once simply meant lighthearted and
cheerful, something completely different than the nebulous, socio-conscious
word that it has become now. But for me I
love best the words that either sound like what they mean or what they mean is
represented in how sound. In a way I
suppose a theoretical onomatopoeia but that's not a really accurate description. The words I like best are the ones that
somehow, somewhere deep inside you resonate so that they make you feel, as you
are saying them, exactly what they mean.
And, truthfully, for me there really are only two that stand out: "Pathetic" and "Kismet."
There's something so joyously derisive to call someone pathetic. Just the way it rolls off your tongue...."You are pa-THE-tic." The emphasis behind the word matches the desired intention. The true definition of the word could mean, "You are cheese curds," but yet somehow it would have still the same desired intention of insult, derogation and disdain. While there are few in my world who deserve being called so or described as such, when the time comes, as inevitably it occasionally will given the feeble nature of the human race, there is such satisfaction in delivering those syllables that it's hard not to crow with glee as they are uttered.
There's something so joyously derisive to call someone pathetic. Just the way it rolls off your tongue...."You are pa-THE-tic." The emphasis behind the word matches the desired intention. The true definition of the word could mean, "You are cheese curds," but yet somehow it would have still the same desired intention of insult, derogation and disdain. While there are few in my world who deserve being called so or described as such, when the time comes, as inevitably it occasionally will given the feeble nature of the human race, there is such satisfaction in delivering those syllables that it's hard not to crow with glee as they are uttered.
Which leads me to my second, and perhaps optimistically more favorite word:
"Kismet". While in essence it
means "fate" or "fortune" its Persian/Turkish/Arabic origin
gives it just that little bit of...spice.
It's fate with a little bit of magic carpet thrown in. Over the years, in all my adventures, I've
come more to embrace, even revel in, the idea of fate. Not predestination....I think we all choose
our own lives. But the idea that the world
is yours if you're brave enough to take it.
For example, last year in July I posted a blog post titled, "I Am
For Bath." At the end of the post talked
about how funny it was that two years prior I had been driving through Bath
with my sister and brother-in-law after being at my brother's wedding in
Porlock, here in the U.K. I had a lovely
boyfriend in L.A. and was not planning to move anywhere at the time, but my
sister, in reference to my newly acquired dual U.S./Finnish citizenship , at that
moment said, "Just think...anytime you wanted to you could live
here." And in that blog post I wrote, "How ironic that here
I am, planning to move to Bath."
Two months after that post, after an exhaustive search across the entire town I carefully selected and then moved into a
flat here in Bath. A couple weeks after
that my then-boyfriend pointed out that the house at the end of that street on
the right, the front door that, while far away, is centered in the picture, was
the house that I had just moved into.
The flat that I am writing this post from now.
So two years and change prior to moving to Bath I took a picture of my
current front door. When I had no idea that
I was even considering moving here, I took a picture in a city I didn't live
in, in a country I didn't live in, of a house that I would, in future, live.
That is kismet. Leaps of faith
and imagination topped with a sprinkling of fairy dust.
I love the idea of being where the universe thinks you're supposed to
be. I'm not religious. When people ask, I say I believe in Carl Sagan
and The Force. And while I abhor the
idea of predestination... I dislike the idea of some supernatural being saying,
"You will be here," as much as I hate the idea of any mortal telling
me where and when I should be...I do love the idea that if you're smart enough,
if you're willing and crazy enough, you will end up were you're "supposed"
to be. Perhaps I think in my head that
there are many "supposed to be" options and that it's a matter of
choosing your own ending in the Choose Your Own Adventure book of your
life. But I do like those strange
coincidences the world throws at you makes you think about...just for that
second longer.
And so kismet. While fate seems
to pragmatic and fortune seems so capitalistic, I love the magic of the word. It implies to me, as I've said, a bit of
spice and sand and flying carpets. To
say, "It was fate that I moved here," or "It was fate that we
met," seems so bland and pedestrian.
But kismet....kismet is the stuff of legends. It's the stuff of heroes. It is the stuff of magic.
And while we know, at best, it's just a pretty illusion, deep down we
all want to believe in magic.
"...I do love the idea that if you're smart enough, if you're willing and crazy enough, you will end up were you're "supposed" to be." --- Well said KK!
ReplyDeleteI like to think we always have the answer, but sabotage ourselves with procrastination and lack of the "magic".
BTW, I love the word: "Dude"
XO