The Location of the Other II: The Other That Is Language - The Courage to Let Go of Meaning

Language does not belong to me.
Even knowing this, every time I write, I find myself wanting to 'speak in my own words.'
Yet, does 'my own words' truly exist in any real sense?
Carrying the theories of others and the echoes of texts I have read somewhere,
within me, as I still try to write, language constantly wavers as an other.

I. Language exists outside of me

When I try to put my sensations into words,
it is already an act premised on sharing with others.

If I write 'it hurts',
it is not my pain,
but exists as a sign understood as 'pain'.
The moment language is born, it leaves me,
and is reconstructed into different forms within someone else.

That is precisely why language is a vessel for others,
and I try again and again to cram feelings that do not fit well
into that vessel, repeating trial and error.

II. The cage of others' theories

Trying to organize my thoughts, I quote someone's theory.
Then, strangely, my words suddenly become heavy.
The moment I borrow the structure of another,
I have the feeling that my thinking is being trapped within someone else's grammar.

Even so, there is the reality that without the exoskeleton of theory,
I cannot properly articulate my own sensations.
That is why I have no choice but to use the words of others.

It means that in order for me to speak about myself,
I must first pass through the voices of others.

In this contradiction, I stop again and again.
'Is this my own thought?' or 'Is it a reenactment of someone else?'

III. What it means to let go of meaning

I have always tried to give meaning to words.
However, language is something that, by nature,
only holds meaning through its difference from other words.

When I read Derrida's concept of 'différance',
I feel that meaning is never fixed anywhere,
but is constantly wavering in its relationship with other signs.
Thinking of it this way, the more I want to 'convey accurately',
the more it seems natural that words slip through my fingers.

There is no complete mastery over language.
When I acknowledge that, perhaps I can finally move
from the side of 'using' language to the side of 'being with' it.

IV. Living with language

The act of writing is
not about fixing meaning,
but about witnessing the place where meaning continues to be generated.

Words move on their own,
slip past my intentions,
and yet, somewhere, they reach someone.

I am merely a body intervening in that process.
That is why, rather than trying to possess language completely,
I believe that accepting its wavering
is the sincerity of the act of 'writing'.

Conclusion

Language is the other within me.
It is a tool for me to think,
and at the same time, a living creature that begins to move beyond me.

While trusting my own words,
I must also continue to doubt those same words.
In that back-and-forth,
I continue to think, write, and breathe with the other today.

⬇︎First installment

⬇︎Derived from this article