vietnamese pages


I understand fluency must make it mundane, just more of the normal symbol scrawl that comes unthinkingly. Vietnamese only adds a few extra stops, hooks, and squiggles. But banal book prompts, even grammar exercises, take on the potency of time invested and inch-by-inch achievement. Failure as well, both past and present. The mistakes now obvious. The words you made the effort to look up and forget. Atrophy. It’s hypnotising, the physical proof of grudging progress and change. Greek, the Sinic scripts, Thai, Hebrew, Sinhalese, Arabic—mere phonetic indicators, powerful enough to entice the uncomprehending into permanent body brands. Imagine what actual meaning brings. Everyday handwriting is weird in itself when stared at a little too long. God help me if ever I stray off the Latinised path. To render what was once utterly arcane, knowledgeably and with control, seems likely to enrapture. Narcissus’ alphabet soup.

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