Michelle Nhung Le

Posted on: 3/8/2021

Even numbers are a mathematical and even, a linguistic joke.

Let me explain. Even numbers cannot be themselves for a very long time. Their fundamental status is copycatted by those numbers we call “odd”. Say, even numbers are “evenly” distributed along the number line, with a difference of two units between every two numbers? So are odd numbers, since they invade the midpoints of those even spaces! But worse, even numbers are deprived of their status as well. Indeed, can an even join an odd in summation and not result in an odd? No matter how many evens you put into a sum, an odd suffices to render them-all collectively not-even.

So you may argue that the situation is reversed in multiplication, that you can multiply infinite odds to a single even and still get an even. The factor 2 is so prevalent it exists in the core of every even number, giving the endless power to retain this innate characteristic after multiplying. Even though that is true enough, 2 is too obvious an asset it becomes a liability. When we talk about even numbers, we immediately remember that they are divisible by 2. Then we proceed to divide them until we exhaust that factor, and what are the results? Odd numbers! (unless you count zero, which is nothing, puff … and disappear!) Odds, or multiplications of prime numbers, to be exact. Ah, prime numbers! Beautiful, enchanting, unique prime numbers! Always by themselves, and only themselves, and odd! Number 2 is so selfish it infects other evens so it can be the only even prime number. The presence of 2 means all even numbers doomed to carry that dull homogeneity, always a relatives of 2,”multiples of two”, never “prime” nor proud.

Many hate Number 2 for due reasons. A second place, when you could just have tried harder, or been luckier, to be the first? It is worse than being the complacent third. Second class, second concern. Relegated. Deprioritized. Unavoidably divisible.

The linguistic joke kicks in with “even people”. Who are they? They are neither outstanding nor invisible. Their lives are alike, a uniform, straight line, even, untroubled by depression and not merry with elevation. No progress, no setback. No pain, no joy. No gain. No-one, standing by a single odd person. And just like numbers, they bear the burden of “evenness”, of monotony, of second concern. Relegated. De-prioritized. Not important enough as to be of first concern to anyone. Odd people utter: “I can’t even!”, but do not realize it is a blessing in disguise. Every now and then, along the line, whatever the line, odd becomes odd-and-prime, one-of-a-kind. Here and now, nobody hears an even cry. No sense. What is there for them to cry about? Which gives rise to questions: Even people, how can they even? Do they ever get mad? Do they even exist? No. They are only a lame joke, of people half-merry on a Christmas day they do not (or are not???) even enough to celebrate. Who knows what “even” means? Who knows what “even” even means?

Urgh, I can’t even!

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