Every conversation I have, I am conflicted between two ways of expression: restrict myself with structure and be understood, or speak the truth and not get the point across. While they sound like extremes, I have not yet found a balance between the two. Neither of them has anything to do with social niceties, which is a different conversation, but both have been highly inefficient in their own ways, and are irreconcilable.

I initially wanted this entry to be a personal defense against such inefficiencies. I have always had trouble using language. Impromptu, orally more so than in writing. I don't believe that it stems from a speech impediment. Although I admit that there are traces of such, they often vanish when I slow down.
I rely much on premeditated soundbites and jokes, of which I have now gathered a sizable library, to gain an edge in conversations. I have an imperative to keep evolving my one-liners and remarks so that I don't get dull or repetitive. They serve me many a leeway ... alas speaking my mind is not one of them. I cannot defend my communication issues with witty wordplay. Hence, this post had to be taken in a different direction.

For much of highschool, I wrongly identified my lack of structured thought as an articulation mismatch between the two languages I spoke. My categories and assumptions were framed in two different lenses: Nepali governed much of my phenomenological world, while English was an academic looking-glass. I believed that there were holes in my lingual landscape because to retrieve the necessary categories, I would have to switch to a different mode of language, which required significant cognitive effort. To do so repeatedly, in real-time conversations, caused articulation fatigue. However, I have since experienced enough code switching and social situations to know that it wasn't the case. I now believe that there are indeed holes but they are more relational than lingual, and I don't know any more than that. Identifying holes is hard and there is a chance of landing on something so fundamental about myself that the ugliness of what I discover will render me dysfunctional. Once again, I push all discovery to the future. I'll deal with it later.