Tag Archives: English

Linguistics and Other Things I Wanted to Study in College #AtoZChallenge

Welcome to day 12 in the #AoZChallenge of random reflections. Today once again I don’t know what to write about. I write this post at past 9PM on April 13 and am deciding what to write on as I go. I looked at the A to Z of me I wrote in 2015 and saw “linguistics” as my letter L word. This was my college major for the two months I studied at university in Nijmegen in 2007. Now I don’t know what to write about linguistics, so instead I’m going to write about the things I at one point considered majoring in. This may be going to be a long list, LOL.

1. Mathematics. When I was about eleven, I decided I wanted to become a mathematician. I barely knew math beyond calculus, but I liked that aspect so assumed I’d like everything about math.

2. Dutch. When I was in junior high school, I wanted to become a linguist, but I didn’t know the word, so I thought I’d become a Dutch major.

3. English. UPon high school graduation, I decided I wanted to study English, and specifically American studies. In Nijmegen, you could choose from your first year on to learn American rather than British English. I had a dream in which I’d go to America in my third year of university and never return.

4. Psychology. I really wanted to major in psychology, but my parents had a problem with psychologists, so I never took that step. I did major in applied psychology for a year at college when I was 20, but only passed communication skills because the instructor cut me some slack. I took psychology classes at Open University again while in the mental hospital.

5. Linguistics. I ultimately decided to major in linguistics at university. I was obviously still mostly interested in psycholinguistics and thought I might be able to enter the speech and language pathology program when I’d be a graduate student. I never made it that far, obviously.

Compensatory Narcissism

A few weeks ago, I was reading Believarexic by J.J. Johnson. Yes, I know I reviewed it already. I didn’t talk about one of the themes in it though, which is competitiveness, perfectionism, narcissism and how these are interrelated. As I just came across a journaling prompt on comparing yourself, I wanted to discuss this now.

I am not a perfectionist. At least, not a successful one. I make a lot of careless mistakes. I also used to send out cards and crafts for swaps that were mediocre at best and worse than a five-year-old could’ve done them at worst. In other words, I am not one to go to great lengths in order to achieve perfection. Of course, my disordered eating is also an example of this. If I attempt to keep control at all, I fail miserably at it. A psychologist who evaluated me when I was eleven, wrote in her report that I lacked self-criticism, in fact.

That being said, I do recognize what Dr. Prakash told Jennifer in the book about being on the head of a pin. If you’re on the head of a pin, you see yourself as great, expect yourself to be great, but once you fail, you hate yourself. I do expect myself to excel or I give up. In this sense, I’ve fallen off my own (and others’) head of a pin so many times that I may look like I don’t care about it anymore. But I do.

I may not show it, but deep down, I’m very sensitive to criticism. Like, I like to think of my English as great, but I definitely know that my pronunciation is an exception to this (and my written English isn’t excelletn either) My husband sometimes jokes, asking “What language is that?” when I speak English. His spoken English isn’t perfect – I’ve never seen his written English -, but it’s better than mine, so I don’t correct him or laugh about it. That being said, knowing that my spoken English is pretty bad, I hardly ever try to use it, so I don’t improve on it. I’d rather stay on my head of a pin and get people I meet online to compliment me on my (written) English.

In some areas, I am competitive and know that I will never win. Like with blogging. I am an okay’ish blogger, but I’ll never be a great blogger, no matter how hard I try. I feel deep down that this is a major weakness of mine, but I blame it on external factors (here comes the lack of self-criticism), or at least uncontrolable ones. For example, I tend to reason that I could be a great blogger if I could use images, which I can’t because I’m blind.

I once read about this type of narcissism called compensatory narcissism. It isn’t an official mental health diagnosis, of course. However, it shows that people with narcissistic traits commonly have low self-esteem. That’s what Dr. Prakash told Jennifer in Believarexic too: that loving yourself too much and hating yourself are sometimes pretty close. Like I said, compensatory narcissism isn’t a formal diagnosis, so I can safely say I fit a lot of the proposed criteria without looking like a hypochondriac, can’t I?

Mummascribbles

Books #theprompt #WotW

This week, the prompt over at Mumturnedmom is “books”. I’ve also been doing a relatively great amount of reading this week, so thought I’d choose it as my word for the week too.

Books were a significant part of my life growing up. Both my parents used to read to me and my sister from an early age on. My father would read us comic and picture books such as Winnie the Pooh. He’d use these weird voices for the characters, which I always hated. As I got older, he read me a children’s book of Greek mythology. My mother read us the likes of Annie M.G. Schmidt, a very famous Dutch poet and children’s book writer.

I learned to read at around age four or five. My mother made little books for me with one or two words on each page. She used rub-on letters so that the print was clear and large enough for me, being partially sighted, to read it. There were books themed “house”, “school” and many others but these are the ones I remember. Later, I’d borrow large print books from the library children’s section, but many had too small print and yet were too easy for me in terms of vocabulary.

As my vision got worse and I had to learn to read braille, my interest in reading books decreased. I’d still read the odd children’s book, but most of the time, I’d stick to the library for the blind’s audio magazine for children age five to nine. I don’t think I read many audio books at the time, and as I said, I didn’t like reading braille.

As I got older, the gap between my potential and my reading ability widened. From fourth or fifth grade on, my parents began insisting I read books even if the school hadn’t assigned it. They probably felt the school underestimated my abilities and cut me too much slack. I remember at one point in fifth or sixth grade being up till what in my memory seems like the middle of the night because I still craved my goodnight kiss and my parents refused to give me one until I’d read a certain number of pages. My parents also tried to positively stimulate me to read. For example, I at one point had the Dutch translation of Alice in Wonderland in braille and, to show me he was taking on a challenge too, my father decided to read the book in English at the same time that I read it in Dutch.

I never became an advanced or avid fiction reader. In high school, I hated having to read adult literature. In reality, I didn’t start enjoying middle grade fiction until I was at least fourteen. By then, while all my classmates were reading young adult or even adult literature, I enjoyed every book written by an author named Caja Cazemier I could get my hands on. I still enjoy reading her books.

In high school, I read exactly the amount of Dutch and foreign-language literature I was required. I got many literary novels from my parents, but still have only started on a small percentage and finished only the humorous ones. One of the main reasons I didn’t end up majoring in English at university was the vast amount of fiction reading required. I was in fact scared when, having singed up for linguistics, I was sent an at the time quite popular literary novel to read in prep for freshman introduction. It was also said that humanities department students would frequently hear this book mentioned during lectures. Fortunately, the linguistics majors didn’t have to read this book after all. Either that, or I dropped out soon enough for the book never to be mentioned in lectures when I was in attendance.

Perhaps paradoxically, as a teen, I had the ambition of writing books when I grew up. I wrote a few, very autobiographical attempts at children’s novels. My most successful attempt is a half-finished novel called The Black Queen about a high school student whose mother suffers from multiple sclerosis. It was one of the less (though still somewhat) autobiographical novels I wrote, and for once it was never my intention of having people “get me” through it. I still someday want to finish this book. Unfortunately, as I started writing mainly in English, I lost my ability to write fiction due to my relatively poor vocabulary and sense of style.

I still don’t particularly enjoy fiction. I do have a few children’s and teen fiction books on my to-be-read list, but the majority of what I still want to read, are autobiographies or non-fiction. This week, I have been reading Angels at Our Table by Ann Breen, a book of stories from families with children with Williams Syndrome. I also started reading Two Bipolar Chicks Guide to Survival by Wendy K. Williamson and Honora Rose. It’s a very humorous guide to living with bipolar disorder, in my opinion also relevant for people with other mental illnesses.

mumturnedmom
The Reading Residence