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Thursday, October 28


Feeding the soul

Moments passed
Jaded consciousness piled on..
My mind's been burdened with nothingness..

Nothing too fulfilling
Nothing seems peaceful
Nothing that I could call mine..

Nothing that is really a big deal..
Nothing was worth mentioning..
Nothing that I felt proud to share..

The tide could not catch up with time..
And so are the fleeting moments..

Running (pun intended) keeps me sane..
So does writing.

*****

Another way to say
Men are from Mars Women are from Venus

P/S: What a twist at the end..

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-Adapted from Sunday Times-

*****

I was watching a bluebottle yesterday. In an effort to escape the living room, he kept flying against the window, hitting his head against the glass over and over again. Then he stopped launching himself at it like a missile and stuck to one little windowpane, buzzing about like he was having a panic attack. It was frustrating to watch, especially if he’d just flown up a little bit higher towards the top of the window, he’d have been free. But he just kept doing the same thing over and over again. I could imagine his frustration of being able to see the trees, the flowers, the sky, yet not being able to get to them. I tried to help him a few times, to guide him towards the open window, but he flew away from me around the room. He’d eventually come back to the same window and I could almost hear him, “Well, this is the way I came in…”

I wonder if my watching him from my armchair is what it’s like to be God, if there is a God. He sits back and see the big picture, just as I could see that if the bluebottle just moved up the window to the top, then he’d be free. He wasn’t really trapped at all, he was just looking in the wrong place.

Then I realized I was the God on this occasion. I had tried to help the bluebottle, but it wouldn’t let me. And then I felt sorry for God because I understood his frustration. Sometimes when people offer a helping hand, it gets pushed away. People always want to help themselves first.


-Cecelia Ahern, The Book of Tomorrow-

*****

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irony @
10:58 PM


Tuesday, October 27


Finally finished this..

Nothing but praises for it.
Though I did not catch the movie,
I’m thankful that I chanced upon this book when PY and I went up to JS house the last meeting.
Sort of a new lesson for me again..
From family bonds to friendship to loyalty to hope and redemption..
I'm really blown away.

I thought there is a vast difference between catching the movie and reading the novel.

The movie gives the eyes a sumptuous feast and animated loud effects.
But I supposed the gist of the story passed through too many hands that the main essence of it gradually diminished to subjective stances of the directors, producers actors and audience.

Reading gives you a more vivid description of everything..
Every emotion, every backdrop, every conflicting interest..
With the novel, it’s just me and my imagination.

First of all,
This story totally changed my prejudiced impression of the Afghans.
Beneath those ugly stories we have heard, lies a whole new perception of morality values, of immensely strong family bonds, of utmost respect for traditions.
How beauty lies in the simple settings filled with poverty, brimming with unjust and flooded with extreme violence.
Funny how such stories used to bore me..
I used to prefer reading the more luxurious stories of life, and then getting attracted to the more optimistic aspects of living.
On this novel,
I simply took pleasure and allowed the details to seep through me..
Left it to pull the intangible melancholic chords in me.

Afghanistan
A place of mix feelings drawn from people all over the world..
She is not a land of violence, not a land terror on herself..
But the people who evolved and upset the lives of the natives made her a land of horror to live in.
According to the novel,
She was invaded by the Russians first, then driven out and taken over by the Talibans who made it a living hell.
Killing innocent random people whenever they deem fit, sexually abusing the orphans, both boys and girls, drove females out from schools.

The way the author writes..
Never ending string of vocabulary
A harmonious mix of both bombastic and the down to earth.
Not forgetting the consensus of both highly and mildly climatic moments, apparent in almost every couple of pages.
I supposed that was one of the reasons that kept the reader fascinated, yearning for more..
My flow of thoughts followed through closely, intently..
As I went deeper into the story,
I found myself visualizing the illustrations, absorbing every embellishment.
It seems the writer was describing his very own life.

I truly savored the protagonist’s constant reference to his childhood.
Because he was the only one in the story who had a good memory of his young life.
“There are many children in Afghan, but not many have a childhood.”
Classes were strictly defined and servants remained so loyal in a manner that was..unimaginable.
Friendship and loyalty come with a high price.
“For you, a thousand times over”

Redemption

How dark secrets consume the goodness of one and then hinder him to really lead a carefree life..
How the shadowed past prevented you from moving forward until you really came face to face with it.
How relived the heart felt the minute the locks to the bottled up fears are set free.

What the author is driving at..
Clear isn’t it?
It’s only human nature to err..
So it all boils down to whether one is willing to come face to face with their mistakes, and not running away from them.
The more you try to hide them, the more mistakes you will need to commit to hide them from others.

And no matter how far you run..
The past will always haunt you.
Mental turmoil is something you cannot rid unless you shoot your own brain.
But guilt does lead to good, and there is a way to be good again.

*****

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irony @
11:37 AM

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