Jonas Doerr – Opinions Columnist

Most people start in a womb, end up in a tomb, use a comb somewhere in between, and stay away from any bombs. If they do find a bomb, they’ll probably want to give it a thorough throw, right now, without asking how, if it starts to glow. If the throw was good, there will be no blood, and they can go get some food.

You’ve probably caught on by now. Why are all those words spelled the same with entirely different pronunciations? Can’t the throw be good and there be no blood and rhyme with food? What’s the point of putting a W at the end of a word if it sounds the same anyways?

And forget about the Bs at the end of words. If OMB is a valid letter combination, I’ll probably combust and feel combative and then turn into a zombie. Let OMB remain what it’s meant to be: slang for On My Belly (or Break, but even so the belly part probably still applies). 

The solution is obvious. What sound does a bomb make? Boom. So why doesn’t bomb rhyme with tomb? The logic is astounding, resounding, and compounding interest in the bank.

Yet, sadly, bomb sounds like “bom”. Bummer. Nobody expected English to make sense, and it probably never will. And that’s the problem.

Language is a huge part of who we are. Most people think in words. Nearly everyone has a running dialogue going on in their heads that no amount of duct tape will shut up, particularly at 11 p.m. when one is trying to sleep.

Language is also one of our strongest tools to influence our environment. If we want to get past someone, most of us would not simply step up to the offending person and chuck them into the nearest dumpster. Words take less effort and have less risk of a punch in the nose.

It would be nearly impossible to exist without some form of language. Aside from not being able to think, interactions with other people would be almost futile, which makes it great that we have one. Except for everyone reading this article, you’re stuck with English.

If the fundamental basis for how most of us think is inconsistent and illogical, what will we output? If we’re made up of confusing material, can we produce anything that’s not confusing? It seems that trying to make sense while using English is like building a treehouse out of soggy cereal.

These inconsistencies and confusions would explain several things about the general plight of humanity, particularly English-speaking Gustavus students. It explains why what we want is confusing, why other people are confusing, and why this article is confusing.

It’s hard to know what we want because the words to describe it are confusing. Do you feel good? That could mean healthy, vibey, satisfied, smiley, or I-just-won-bingo-y. Those words are more accurate, but still vague. It’s impossible to truly capture a feeling with the English language.

And aren’t our wants feelings waiting to be filled? If we can’t accurately think through our feelings and wants because our language can’t accurately describe them, how can any of them make sense? We can get close to understanding, but our convoluted language keeps us from actual comprehension.

It should then be clear why other people are so confusing, too. It’s hard enough to understand what’s bouncing around in our own heads, much less why that person took 2.5 weeks to answer the invite for lunch on February 14. “Sorry, I’m bad at texting!” they say.

What does that mean? Do their fingers have a hard time touching the right spots on the screen? Are they bad at spelling? Do they misplace their phone? Do they forget to charge their phone? Are their notifications turned off? Could they (gasp) not want to text me back?

All of these interpretations could be valid. Those five words are so ambiguous one could imagine dozens more, and some unsuccessfully Valentiners probably have. Not all sentences are that easy to misinterpret, but in English, nothing is cut and dry (like that idiom).

Perhaps, by now, you have realized why this article is confusing. Either the unclarity of the English language is a convenient excuse for bad writing, or that unclarity makes clarity impossible. Clearly. Or, maybe, you think it isn’t and you’re patting yourself on the back for your humongous intellect, to which I say, peace out (or in, or up, or beneath. The preposition doesn’t really matter anyways).

Should we do anything to fix this enormous blight on the pristine efforts of trying to make any sense? Shall we take scissors and glue to Oxford dictionaries until logic is on every page?

It might work. But far more likely is that the best we can do is make fun of ourselves.