History of philosophy

So I am taking a modern philosophy class, because (1) it fulfills my last general education requirement which allows me to graduate next month and (b) philosophy is a field that interests me and I figured that this would be a good way to get some formal grounding. I might mention that my previous experience with the subject
consists of Sophie's World, my own amateur ramblings, and some tidbits I have come across in my Spanish literature classes.

I confess that I am not enjoying the class as much as I had anticipated, or at least hoped, and I think the blame may be distributed more or less evenly between the nature of the class itself and my attitude towards it. It also has to do with the graduate seminar that I am taking concurrently, whose reading list is both longer and more interesting than that of the philosophy class. So what I'm saying is that for various reasons, my lit class is receiving significantly more attention, and I just have not been able/willing to put in the time and energy necessary to really get into my philosophy class.

I still go to the class. I mean I'm there physically, at least, if not always mentally. This makes for some interesting class notes. Enumerated arguments for the existence of God or the non-existence of corporeal substance are interspersed with doodles of flowers or meteors and snippets of songs running through my head and the occasional extended stream of consciousness which is an attempt to get whatever is in my head (which frequently has nothing to do with the ongoing lecture) out onto paper so that I can try to make sense of it. One day I found myself tracing a river through a forested mountain range whose peaks alternated with the words "Transcendental Unity of Apperception" which I had written above. Unsatisfied with an incomplete-looking scene, I filled it in a long passage of ramblings about the most pressing thing on my mind that particular day.

More recently, something (I don't remember what) inspired me to write the following passage in my notebook. N.b.: I am still exhibiting signs of being an amateur philosopher. Oh, and it came out in Spanish. I provide the original and an English translation. Or I guess I should call it a translation into "English", or perhaps my English. You'll see. And I apologize in advance for what some might call a run-on sentence. It actually works pretty well in "Spanish", and I chose not to break it up in the translation in order to preserve the feel of the words just spilling out of my mind continuously. Did I just justify my translation of my own writing? Weird.

the original, por si acaso les interesa:

No existen dos personas que hablen el mismo idioma.

Toda persona, al aprender un lenguaje, toma en sí: el léxico, la gramática, la ortografía y la pronunciación, los interpreta de su propia manera de comprenderlos, los hace suyos y cuando los usa ya no habla o escribe español ni inglés ni griego ni maya ni cualquier de esos idiomas a quienes clasificamos con tales nombres, sino una lengua suya y propia, cual no se puede entender como alemán o ruso o lo que pretenda llamarse, que esto es sólo un disfraz y un vehículo imperfecto por el cual va el lenguaje personal y único de cada individuo divagando por el aire buscando quien lo entienda.

and the translation:

No two people speak the same language.

Every person, when learning a language, takes upon himself its lexicon, its grammar, its orthography and its pronunciation, interprets them in his own manner of understanding them, makes them his own, and when he uses them he does not speak or write Spanish or English or Greek or Maya or any of those languages that we classify with such names, but rather his own language, which cannot be understood as German or Russian or whatever it pretends to be called, for this is just a disguise and an imperfect vehicle in which the personal and unique language of every individual wanders through the air, looking for someone who understands it.

My wings are tired... it's been a long flight at high altitudes.

Hi.

I'm back.

It's been exactly a month since I left Mexico, nearly three since my last blog post. I had intended to write while I was in Mexico. There were plenty of things to say. I even had one post (about a city bus experiment gone wrong) half-written, but I never got around to finishing it and posting it. Don't get me wrong, I wrote a montón (that means a lot) while I was there. Most of it was in Spanish, however, and the effort of translating, anonymizing, getting to a computer with a decent internet connection, and finding enough time to type up my long, rambling discourses, tended to be overshadowed by other things calling my attention. Like a visit to the Mérida zoo, whose fauna includes tigrillos, peacocks, and yes, even grey squirrels. Or a screening of Los contrabandistas del Caribe, a Puerto Rican film with a low budget which shows and makes for a thoroughly entertaining experience. Or Mayan language classes. Or getting caught in a downpour in the middle of city and wading through the streets-come-rivers on the way to Mayan language class. Or trying to buy Yucatecan hammocks without getting ripped off. Or relaxing in the Plaza Grande, anolando cotton candy, chatting with the locals, and watching the children chasing the pigeons. Or climbing the Mayan pyramids which were literally in people's backyards in Izamal. Or going to the Parque de Santa Lucía to see the four-man trios perform while savoring that amazing piña colada ice cream in a freshly-made waffle cone. You get the idea.

The short version is, I went to Yucatán and fell in love. And I learned a lot. And I wrote a lot, but I stuck to the old-fashioned pen-and-paper method.

For the last several weeks, I have been trying to settle back into my nest in this peculiar place that I sometimes call home. Getting back into the routine of normal university classes. Tackling an impossibly long (and always growing) reading list. Getting used to the fact that I am not a minority here (except at the grocery store. When I went the other day I felt like I was in Mexico again. It was wonderful.) Remembering what being alone feels like, since my best friends in the world are, well, in other parts of the world. Catching up with old friends. Stressing about the future and trying to plan it even though I know that ultimately, I am not the one in control of it. Buying flamenco shoes and falling in love with Spanish dance. Cultivating other saviors of sanity, like NPR podcasts and phonecalls to Mom and gchats with Naiad and, well, diving back into the blog world.

That would be a skydive. Skylarks are not aquatic creatures, after all.