To be truthful, I had never heard the word "aliquant" until a few weeks ago, when I stumbled upon it as a Word of the Day on Dictionary.com. [Yes...I sometimes browse Dictionary.com...a most deplorable habit, undoubtedly, but do know that I am trying to stop.] Consequently, the word "aliquant" remained jumbling around in my head when I sat down to ponder a blog title, and well...you see what happens...
Nevertheless, I have become convinced that this title is an appropriate one, and I hope to convince you of that as well. I pray that this explanation may both clarify my own thoughts and (at least on some level) stir thoughtful conversation. So please consider this to be an apologetic text to you, in both senses of the term.
First, a definition.
- Aliquant: contained in a number or quantity, but not dividing it evenly (http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/aliquant?s=t)
i.e. - 5 is an aliquant part of 16, because if you divide it into 16 three times, you still have 1 left.
It seems to me, then, that "aliquant" means something rather close to "irreducible", though not quite. It gets at the idea that when certain things are broken down into their constitutive parts, the clarity of description itself dissolves, because 'something' remains unaccounted for. It is not neat. It is not definitive. In such circumstances, approximation must suffice in the absence of precise representation.
Well and good. What has this got to do with you, me, or Taiwan?
A fair question. What it comes down to for me is the strained usefulness of words in conveying to others the essence of experiences we have, when we try to verbalize and share those memories. I trust that we have all had the unenviable experience of retelling a (seemingly) funny story that failed to inspire in the listener(s) the same appreciation for the situation's humor as we enjoyed at the time.
"Yeah...you kinda had to be there..." Admit it, we've all been there.
To be sure, our words can transmit some rough notion of what we experience, whether it be a cherished childhood memory or a fresh, new happening. That is one source of words' joy and usefulness: sharing with others the diversity of our encounters and experiences.
But this diversity cuts both ways, because we do not always understand each other in our differences. To some degree this is natural and understandable. We are finite in our knowledge and experience. But it is precisely when differences separate us that words are prone to falling short. Try as we might, we sometimes cannot express what we wish to express. And this sense of the human condition's fragile contingency both fascinates and baffles me.
After returning from a semester in Beijing, I sometimes dreaded being asked about my time there, because I could nearly feel my treasured experiences crumbling on my tongue, as I fumbled for the words to describe them. So as I embark for Taiwan, I am very conscious of the deficiency of my words to do the experience justice. I think we can assume safely that this dilemma implicates my limited ability to articulate to a greater extent than it does the audience's understanding.
But even though I fear how far short my words may fall, I must speak and share. Even if my words may amount to little more than a rough approximation (16/5=3, remainder 1) of what occurs in Taiwan, I want to share them with you, because you are dear to me. I was unsure initially who I am writing to, but I now see that it is you, whoever you may be. So I invite you to occupy this space with me--this space where words fall inevitably short, yet we lift our voices anyway. I do not pretend to comprehend this truth, but I sense that it has substance, however tenuous, and I long for that. I invite your thoughts and comments as we set out on this pilgrimage together. You are welcome company on the road ahead.
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