Reunion of a Different Kind

To say that I was a 'bookworm', would be the understatement of the decade. At one point (i'm almost afraid to profess), I was one of those uber-geeky kids who'd always have a book in hand, having the 'audacity' to read even when on a social call.

I couldn't help it. It's been engraved in me for as long as I can remember. I couldn't give a damn about how I could make my pinafore-uniform seem cooler, just as long as Anne (of Green Gables)would beat Gilbert to the Avery Prize. Enid Blyton was my Beyonce, and a visit to the bookstore was too magical for my little dweeby-self to express. The school day revolved around my English class; racing to the end of the reading list, and having the freedom to express my opinion onto a piece of paper was the greatest high of all.

Then along came high school, university, a social life, and the internet. Not necessarily in that order but each carrying equal damage.

I found that I had less time to read, and more time to check-on my face book page. I'd drop a decent novel in deference to a last-minute shopping expedition. Kareoke night trumped Ayn Rand,and embarrassingly on more than one occassion I stood up Tolstoy for Hugh Jackman.

Even when I was at a stage when I really didn't have much to do, my pile of unread books would pile higher. I'd still visit the book fair like I have done religiously ever since it's inception...and I'd still sneak in a secret whiff of each new title I buy before I read it. But somehow I'd only really find time when I didn't want to think of a particular something that was bothering me, or on a Thursday night when I had no plans, or when the internet at home went bust. But deep down I knew I still wanted that floor-to-ceiling library more than than that Chanel tribute bag.

But of late...I had got hold of a novel. One of those your eyes just couldn't peel away from, and your fingers had a will of their own. I carried it in my handbag, and would sneak in a page / chapter or two during lunch breaks, at hospital waiting rooms, even in a moving vehicle.

And it all came back to me, in that comforting heady rush that only fond memories can conjure.
It's true what they say about old habits dying hard. They might be in a coma for a few years, but you'll be at their bedside everyday until they wake up..speaking to them, re-assuring them that all hope is not lost. Yes, it's rather creepy of me to personify a hobby as a dying person, but i'm hoping my poetic license will save me from being strait-jacketed straight (get it?) to the loony bin.

It's like your best girlfriend y'know? The moment some new, buff man comes into your life, aformentioned bestie is chucked aside. But as soon as you're the one chucked, bestie's shoulder is right there waiting for you...no matter how hurt she was all along.

Now when i'm off for a mall-trawl, my Magrudy's (book store) points-card sits comfy in it's little niche inside my wallet, along with my Grazia discount card. I've re-kindled the habit of exchanging titles with other avid readers, and have accumulated quite a collection of cosmopolitan bookmarks (Hello nerdville!). Don't quite know if i'll put off a good dosh-session with the girls, for a pick at the pages just yet though!


If you love something, let it go. If it comes back to show, that's how you know eh?



Cheers.

Of Pocketed Passions and Silent Sufferings

One of the many attributes that make us human beings highest in the hierarchy, is probably the ability and variance with which we express emotion.

Identical twins can have the exact tendencies in every aspect of their lives, but in the way they handle pain, for example. One might choose to mourn out loud, expelling heartbreaking sobs that melt the heartstrings of just about anyone made to listen. The other might decide to withhold on vocalization, preferring instead to suffer alone. Silently, and drawing as little attention to herself as is possible; hoping that noone else will suspect and interfere.

We walk down the same streets everyday; meet new people, meet old people. Cuss at a swerving taxi-driver, and indifferently order our regular cuppa from the local cafe. For all you know, that cabbie was fervently rushing home on hearing the news of a new addition to his family. For all you know, the barrista that just handed you your skim-latte had just ended his 10-year marriage the night before. For all you know, your colleague in the adjacent cubicle is suppressing a victory dance deserving of his team's victory.
The pensive chap to your right at the bus-stop probably just got laid-off, and the guy smoking profusely on your left probably just got laid.
The woman you're kneeling / sitting next to at mosque / church, is praying as hard as you are. Is she a mother begging for her son's safe return? A battered wife beseeching for guidance? Or a daughter, hoping against all hope that her father recovers?

Everyone's got a cloud above their head, hovering and following them every single minute of every day; some with a silver lining, and some without. We grieve, we rejoice. We mourn the loss of a loved one, or replay the freshness of a new relationship. Our friends and family, our closest confidantes might know...but those strangers you happen to bump into on your way out of the elevator, or those familiar-but-can't-quite-place faces you smile a polite acknowledgement; they have no idea. Just like you have no clue.


Indifference is welcoming sometimes; it's non-claustrophobic, non-judgemental, and non-pitying.
Beacuse your burden is burden enough. And because you just can't pretend with yet another person that you feel their pain, when in truth you're just glad you're not them. We're gluttons in times of glory, and selfish in times of anguish.


Not because we're terrible people. But just because we're human.

Talk of Troubled Times

The one thing we owe to all this recession schmesession is the potential it has for conversation.


We all love to complain. And once the signal turns green, we can launch into a series of anecdotes, 'tsk tsk' at the downfall of the dollar, and list out the names of close friends / relatives affected by the splurge of job cuts.

An awkward date can turn into a conversation smooth enough to rival one of 007's chat-up lines. Over coffee, the men attempt to predict when the economy will finally revive, the Stepford's fret over whether or not their husbands will be able to gift them this Spring's Gucci, and mother's exchange figures of their children's friends who've had to drop out of school.

It's a food fight of buzzwords like 'slump' and 'lay-offs.' It's a horror movie with villanous bonus-dispensing CEO's and victimized Merril Lynch'ers. Everyone's heard of the 'R' word, and even a 5-year-old could point out that the Credit Crunch is not a new Nestle' product.

Frankly i'm tired. Tired of every new subject I bring up stubbornly retracting back to the 'current economic situation.'
I'd like to be able to talk about the weather, without having someone point out that the recent rainfall is a reflection of the gloom of the markets. Convocation ceremonies are clouded over with whispers of 'It's a shame. What a terrible time to graduate.' The joy of a new addition to the family is quashed by the worry of up-keep. Even the secure individuals live a wary existence, just waiting for the metaphorical axe to fall.

Sometimes I find myself actually believing that we have a soft spot for all this gloom and doom. We love the drama it brings, the stories we have to tell, and for some perverse reason we're kinda fond of the fear of the unknown. Maybe we're just tired of the monotony of routine, the safety net of a secure existence.

And I just dedicated an entire post to the subject I claim to be whinging about. Proof enough.


The human psyche..go figure.


Cheers (?)