Words

Language is a funny thing, it occurred to me on the bus this morning. While most people would agree that it's what you mean that matters, not what you say, it seems to me that the most important words in life are often the ones that convey nothing but the words themselves. I'm not talking about the saccharine "I love you" or the omnipotent "of course I do, what open-minded girl wouldn't?" but the simpler things, the phrases of experience and association.

I've been in London and the UK long enough now that I've already shared experiences with and parted with a number of friends. Being a traveller, you get used to saying goodbye to people. Actually, this isn't really true, but you fool yourself that you have a thick skin. There's something different in moving away or moving on than being left behind, however. In London, we're all travelers, all foreigners. There's really nobody that isn't moving on: the city churns like butter, beaten out of any constant shape faster than it can be formed. Certain things lock you into certain times and places and trigger memories of friendships and circumstances better than anything else. That's why this website exists: I have the worst memory of anyone I know. Every six months or so I read over parts of it and am startled by things I'd completely forgot. The words heein are my memories and my interpretations. Often they only hint at the general shape of something which I can't really describe to everyone out there. Some of it is hidden and only a few people have seen it. All of this is an analogue for what I'm talking about. Shared language is unique to a time and a place and a set of memories. In-jokes, slang, jargon. Talking shit, bollocking on, behaving like idiots: That's where memories really are.

Most memories are tied to times of particular hardship or joy. People remember the birth of their children, the death of their parents, their graduation, the time they broke their leg. They'll remember the days and the weeks only hazily, though that's where life is lived. Read 'On the Road' or 'the Catcher in the Rye' and you can see the beauty of the celebration of the moment - catching life before it slips through your fingers. Hell, it's the entire basis of Fellowship of the Ring. The time is now, as they say.

The problem is, most days don't differ too greatly from one another when you're just living your life. It's pretty difficult to remember what was going on at a given time unless it's marked by something completely out of the ordinary. The exception to this is when you're reminded of a time by anything unique.

I can't really explain why getting an email a year ago from Jack Mead with a title of "Wonders!" saying only "..Will they???" is so hillarious, or why when I see him I know the first words out of his mouth will be "Stuey Christian!" but when those words come to mind, a cascade of memories comes with them. I know that was when I first got together with Kirsty, Antony was yet to begin his love affair with body building and (we always suspected) steroids. It was also the time of the sixteen-hour pub crawl, the day after I cut my hair off (it was long for four years). Similarly, the word "repecst" reminds me of sitting in a Thai eating joint in Glebe with James and Fabs after arsing round at the Glebe Internet Exchange, followed by about a year of drunken stupidity leading to my leaving Australia, finally. Or how "abort" - though I wasn't involved in its creation, ties me to a Chinese restaurant with fried dumplings near the Mandarin Club in Sydney's Chinatown. More recently, I've remembered "fuck Kuba" which was only invented about six months ago by me and my old manager at Tinderbox, the mighty Phil McLennan. But half the people I knew at that time have moved on: moved to Poland, Germany and back, or just other parts of London.

"Kiitos" and "Carngrego" are similarly locked in time. Words not need be in your own language to have meaning - nor, often enough, technically in anybody's language.

Like I say, none of this will mean anything to you. But simple words though they are, they tie me to specific people at specific times. They're the closest thing to shared genuine memory that inevitably awaken a whole string of events and times to those involved. I wish I could remember more. To others the word "shim" has a bizarre, repetitive quality. Weird, I know. But the point is, next time people start talking shit for no apparent reason, don't be too hasty to dismiss it. I doubt you'll remember just how many action points you cleared from the board on your death bed, or how much hard work you did. But I'll bet you you'll remember exactly where you were sitting the day somebody named a shit after your boss.