The Spoken, The Written...

I think I've spoken too much. Everyday. I'm serious. I just can't stop yapping away. All mindless.

Now, my job involves crafting lots of emails to clients, consisting of answers to their queries and advices. Many a time, I found that Hitler's Young and I would interpret a client's email query differently, suggest vastly diverse solutions to a similar problem. I found the gap hard to bridge. Then I realised I am not alone. That was also when I realised that I am not just dealing with words, but more importantly, humans and their thoughts. My clients are humans, of course. It's never easy looking at matters from their perspectives.

Think about it, if written words, in their nature process of production, stimulate analysis, re-thinking of logic structure and rationale, could still result in misstatements and misunderstandings, what is the probability that spoken words, stripped of the aforementioned benefits of the written, would fare better? I say, no chance, nil probability.

Now, question: does emotion inject into speech hinder or boost communication? I surmise emotion is a double-edged sword, keeping in mind that usually the ultimate truth or cold reality is hard to swallow, pride, fear of inferiority are obvious barriers. Of course, the wonderfully spoken does adorn and offer an expanded facet to expression of thoughts, of intentions. Call it even three-dimensional. It's starting to sink in that emotion and fact don't mix. That is why I found it so much easier to talk to clients on phone: using emotion, there is this leeway, this instantaneous manipulation of words in tone, speed and loudness, allowing you to get out of jail the next second. Yes, my personal experience tells me presentation precedes fact in my verbal replies to clients.

I declare then: written words go better with fact, in relative to speech. That is why poems, which are basically words injected with much emotions, are often misunderstood. Then again, where is the need for precision in this instance? It's therefore easy for poem, or even this particular post, ostensibly analytical, to fall into pretension, like a trapdoor.

Now, I've written too much. And my throbbing temples hurt...