The moment comes when the words suddenly [tank]. They are not enough, and -at the same time- they are too much. [Word]s come with their [cortege] of associations. Every time you speak or write you are using a tool that has been handed to you by the [generation]s before. The tool was not left unmarked or un[mar]red.
I am speaking English: using a language that alternately [fascinate]s and [irritate]s me. I, the eternal [ESL] boy. I used to believe, at a certain time, that I was unable to [love] in English. It is certain that I never tried.
I would like to have less [inhibition] about my English. But I carry inside of me the memories of a thousand English classes, of [mark]s on [exam paper]s. Spinsters, teaching me about [shall] and [will] and [would] and [should]: I will never use this language in a less than conscious way.
I tell to myself "700 millions Indians speak English in their own way, and they even write books". Why don't I declare my variant a [dialect]-of-one ? It can't happen. I have the [OED] on a little altar. [Grammar] won't let me alone.
One day, I hope that I will be able to say "[I love you]" without thinking about a [ILOVEYOU|computer virus], and without feeling like the thousandth [rerun] of a stickily romantic american movie. It will be difficult; instead of concentrating on the [coral] ear of my beloved, I will be trying to get the vowel in "love" just right.
I would like to swim in words, to roll in language. Instead, I am like a [whale] [wallow]ing in a thick [Sargasso] sea.