The Armor of Big Words

A thesaurus has been my best friend as a language learner. It taught me words I thought would make me sound smart and confident. Recently, though, I came across an article on my favorite language enthusiast’s blog, “Blogwig.” The author writes about how non-native English learners often mistake “big words” for “big intelligence.” We tend to believe that essays packed with four-syllable words will mask the fact that we are non-native speakers.

Another point hit me hard. Fancy words can work as armor. They protect us from being misunderstood. They hide our insecurity, because if we are armed with impressive vocabulary, surely no one is going to laugh at us. We will gain respect and earn our place in the tribe.

I know I am guilty of this. When I write a script for my videos where I narrate in English, I almost always swap out simple words in hopes of making the sentence sound more “eloquent.” Along the way, it became a habit. Just now, when I wrote the previous sentence, I almost typed “compose” instead of “write.”

But the author suggests that simple writing holds more power than writing veneered with college vocabulary. Simple writing equals a naked idea. It reveals the truest form of your thought, and that is a vulnerable, courageous act.

Because showing what we are really thinking is scary. It means risking our tender hearts. It means being judged. It means getting hurt, potentially. What if what we are thinking is wrong? What if they think it is stupid? What if they think I am wrong, and I am stupid?

As I write this, I realize something. I identify with my thoughts and with the language I use. If I use smart words, then I must be smart. If I can impress people with complex writing, then I must be complex and interesting. So all this time, it was never only about elevating my writing or my English. It has also been about my desire to portray myself in a certain way when speaking or writing in English.

This makes sense when you think about what learning a new language as an adult can feel like. Sometimes it feels like your intelligence is reduced to the level of your language. Sometimes people will even treat you that way.

Have you ever seen someone, usually older, talking to a non-native Japanese speaker like they would speak to a child? That slow, overly enunciated tameguchi voice, even though with everyone else they use keigo? Tameguchi is the overly casual way of speaking, and keigo is polite speech. I have witnessed this so many times, and I have been on the receiving end of it too. It makes you feel small and powerless.

No wonder I picked up the shield and the helmet. No wonder I triple-check my emails and text messages on ChatGPT before I hit “send.” The fear of judgment has wrapped its claws around my ego and pride so tightly that, along the way, I became defensive.

So how do I drop my armor and be vulnerable?

One of my favorite word origins is “courage.” Its roots imply “telling all one’s heart.” I love the idea that courage means speaking from the heart, saying what is true, instead of trying to impress others.

So here is what I really mean. I want to feel seen, and I want to feel heard. I want to be treated as an equal, regardless of the language, or the level of the language I am speaking.

But I am scared that I am not good enough, and that my thoughts are not good enough. It is scary to be dismissed, to be ignored, to be looked past, and to have people deem you irrelevant. We humans are social creatures. We thrive in community and in connection.

The strong pull I have felt toward a thesaurus turns out to be very human. I was not collecting words only to sound smart. I was collecting protection. But perhaps I can ease a little bit. After all, connection is what I am after, and simplicity gets the job done, beautifully. Clear words do not make me smaller. They let me be seen.

So this is me, showing my insecurity and my deepest longing, in plain English.

Written by SAKURACO