The defense of language

One of the strangest things about humanity is the fierce defense of language. If a person writes without accents, forgets an "h," or replaces a "c" with an "s," they receive a series of social reprimands. If the mistakes are continuous, they are labeled as ignorant, possessing a very low intellectual level. In the case of Spanish, the shield is a pathetic academy and its sad dictionary.

I used to enjoy going against the tide, saying, "language always changes; it's a living thing." But then I wanted to understand the reasons for the hatred towards those who speak or write poorly. A great poet told me, "for people, language is reality; if someone changes that, they are changing their entire existence, and that's something that cannot be accepted."

On my part, I dare to attempt two possible answers. The first is that language is the essence of a person's identity and, therefore, something very delicate to touch. If someone adds an extra ingredient to a national dish or if a foreigner appropriates a traditional song or dance, the alarms go off immediately.

The second answer is that learning to read and write is a traumatic event. In childhood, we transition from a magical world to a school world where all things have an exact and precise name, where mistakes are punished with mockery or reprimands. We go from the playground to the desk where we fill pages with uppercase, lowercase, and calligraphic letters. In other words, reading and writing are mental injuries; it's no wonder that "the written word enters with blood."

But sometimes, I loveWrriting carelessly! [Even if! none underztaands aniithingbecause it MAKES]me fil LESShuman & mux moor FREE.