When communication nonetheless breaks down (as it sometimes does) we can pinpoint the error and make our language more specific: Yet another dark, oven-hot morning in yet another hotel bedroom, packing, dressing… and now I couldn’t find my sock. I opened the door of the wardrobe and said, ‘Have you seen my sock?’ ‘Shut it,’ she said. ‘I was doing my hair in it.’ I examined both sentences in their entirety. Nothing came through. ‘The door of the wardrobe,’ she said. ‘It’s got a mirror on it. I was doing my hair in it’ (Campbell 1976:216-217).
THE BRIDGE AND THE RIVER Or The Ironies of Communication. GRAHAM DUNSTAN MARTIN. French, Edinburgh
True. We can disambiguate things by asking. By looking puzzled.
However, what happens whenever we don’t do any of those? It can be twisted. It can be broken. We take for granted communication will happen so long as we open our mouth and speak. It is not always the case. Communication takes more than… communicating. It takes the will to ask and the will to try again. To explain. To put ourselves into scrutiny.
How willing are you to try again after you said something? Pasto kalo.
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