A picture of the Rosetta Stone, in a high cont...
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It is hard to be me. Well perhaps is it not really all that hard, but as is common with most people as far as I know there are certain weaknesses which would drive one to insanity if not for the other aspects of talent and life. Language has always fascinated me. At the age of twelve, an age marked for males by the seemingly boundless number of interests that they can hold, I fell in love with Egypt. From that love I went and printed off reams of paper filled with countless photographs of carved walls and old papyri all in the vein attempt to translate some of them. Obviously it is only in hind sight that I can say vein; and even more than that, these showed me that great mystery, the mysteries of an entire people, could be encoded and hidden behind the security of language. If it were not for that infamous discovery of the Rosetta Stone back in 1922(?), the deciphering of coptic and demotic hieroglyphics would sure have take many more years. Thus, most of our modern-day understanding of the Egyptian civilization, the longest lasting the world over, would remain untouched and unfathomed due to a simple inability to read their bountiful written record. I am convinced that it is this simple fact that I originally developed a love for language while younger.

In the years that followed my interest in language would ebb and flow as the tide. Sure the interest and desire to learn a mysterious foreign language always remained, but there were certainly periods where I could mitigate and redirect that interest through other channels for the sole purpose of convenience.