Some Say It Better

Spoken (or written) language is often a horribly disappointing medium. As an ordinary human being, there are countless times when words are incapable of expressing the power and urgency of a certain feeling. And so the emotions of the moment are blurted out hesitantly or repressed altogether.

The expatriate is an especially susceptible victim of this phenomenon. When you don't speak the language shared by 99.9% of people in close proximity, you're prone to spurts of uncontrollable honesty (often under the influence of stress, lack of sleep, alcohol, loneliness, etc.). The urge to communicate overcomes the obstacles of doing so. Unfortunately for most of us, we're poorly equipped for this task.

I'm often amazed at the unspoken suffering floating amongst foreigners in Korea. Including my own. We're all transplants. All of us running: to something, away from something, or simply in place. Thousands of stories to tell, but very few skilled storytellers. And there's a simple reaction to uninteresting or poorly-told stories - the audience stops paying attention.

You get used to this pretty quickly. 

"Why are you here?"

"Ah, <debt/adventure/boredom>. You know how it goes."

Filler. Pure and simple. You might get close to a handful of people, and the fuzzy picture of their motivations gets a tiny bit clearer. But you're still filling in the blanks of their story for the most part. Meanwhile, people's hearts are straining through their chests, their minds and vocal cords are bursting with a million thoughts and ideas and unfocused feelings, desperate for an outlet, any kind of outlet. We have so much to say, but so few ways to say it.

Try as we might, we just can't find a way to express how we feel. So we turn to musicians, poets, writers, anyone who seems to have a goddamn clue when it comes to communicating human sentiment. We re-read essays and novels for the umpteenth time, we sing the same sad songs at noraebang, we latch on to anyone who has consumed the same literature in the hope that maybe there is some kindred spirit who understands our mindset, even if we can't articulate it.

What if we could just come out once and scream it? "I am ______, and I feel like _________ right now."  Would it be cathartic? Maybe. What about the aftermath? I don't know. Venting is rarely a clean process in real life. 

It seems, then, that storytellers are incredibly important. They say what we wish we could say, only they say it better.

Maybe you're tired and broken,
your tongue is twisted with words half spoken
and thoughts unclear.


What do you want me to do, to do for you
to see you through?
A box of rain will ease your pain
and love will see you through.

~Robert Hunter