Word dictionaries came about a longggg time ago. One uses it to look up meanings of unfamiliar words and those scary looking sesquipedalians such as this one. But despite the effort of the institutions such as "Oxford", "Merriam-Webster", or even "UrbanDictionary's" attempt to standardize the definitions, we all carry a personal dictionary that is unique and intimate to us.
How does something so arbitrary, like a certain sound with certain frequency, or certain lines and dots arranged in a certain way communicate an idea originated in an arbitrary mind that is physically nonexistent?
It is our personal dictionary which gives us meanings to all the happenings around us, to us. We live through the definitions we define, we define the definitions through the lives we live.
In this sense, life is just a long journey in which we fill in the pages of our dictionary. How does one define home? How does one define mom, dad, family, happiness? How does one define love? Oh the ever so inconsistencies...
After a lifetime of editions and renditions we made, the thickness of our dictionaries proportions to the completeness of us.
This, is the last entry of the word "life" in my personal dictionary
- defined at Toronto Union Train Station,
On Valentines' Day after Loran '10 selections
For XXXXXXX
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