Conversations on Science, Culture and Time

Severance, Season 2
Cristian Sirbu Cristian Sirbu

Severance, Season 2

Let’s begin where the season did: on a high note. The first few episodes reintroduced us to the luminous bleakness of Lumon and its cheerfully traumatised employees. Mark, Helly, Irving, and Dylan all returned to their grey-carpeted purgatory, one by on, their faces a little more worn, their eyes slightly more haunted. And then—just when we were getting comfortable with the eerie fluorescents and perfectly-timed corporate dread—the show said: “Hold my Kier e-candle.”

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Language, Pints, and the Eternal "Why?"
Cristian Sirbu Cristian Sirbu

Language, Pints, and the Eternal "Why?"

Now, given that yours truly has started spending a considerable amount of time writing - or at least contemplating ideas, spinning narratives, crafting dialogue, and occasionally questioning their own life choices - it was only fitting that the question of how language itself formed would pique my interest. It’s not a new obsession, mind you. Ever since childhood, I’ve found myself drawn to the idea that words don’t just describe the world - they shape it, build it, define it.

Sverker Johansson understands this well. He opens The Dawn of Language with a scene that is both painfully familiar and strangely profound: a conversation with his five-year-old son. It follows a pattern any parent, teacher, or unsuspecting adult in the vicinity of a curious child will recognise:

"Why?"
"Because X."
"But why?"
"Because Y."
"But why?"
…long pause, shoulders raised in existential surrender.

At this point, most parents wave a vague hand at “science” or “because that’s how it is,” but Johansson, being made of sterner stuff (and by ‘stern’ we mean former particle physicist at CERN turned linguist, because apparently some people need two intimidatingly complex careers), took a different route. He wrote a book. And what a book it is.

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Windswept Reflections: The Edge of the World
Cristian Sirbu Cristian Sirbu

Windswept Reflections: The Edge of the World

[…] Books I couldn’t fit into my luggage sit patiently in the shelves of my mental library, their beautifully designed covers captured in quick photos, their intriguing titles jotted in the margins of my travel notes. […] Among these is Michael Pye’s The Edge of the World, a book I first spotted in Edinburgh but only recently revisited while scrolling through my photo archives. Now holding it in my hands, I see how perfectly it aligns with what that journey left me with: a fascination with the unlikely connections, invisible influences, and untamed forces that have shaped British history (and far beyond).

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