I don't want to drift off. I don't want to float away. I want to stay anchored, moored to one place. I don't mean that I want to repeat the same damned things day in, day out, but I don't mind structure either. Having a change in routine would be nice once in a while. Reading Haruki Murakami's Norwegian Wood upon Ray's advice is something I don't regret. I'm not even half-way through the book, but as far as I can tell, it's a damn good read. I can actually identify with all the characters of the book with the living, breathing people I know in real life. How does one get so deep? How does one be able to identify and describe human emotion so intricately without being sucked into the void which the fictional characters are thrust? How does life get so complicated? I mean, some drama is fine but to live a soap opera? I wouldn't be able to handle that kind of pressure, although my life is tainted with some form of melodrama.
I have come to realize that I am slowly developing a fear of re-reading novels that I've finished. I wonder why. This is a phobia that would prove to be a pain in the ass because it would, in a way, deprive me of the small pleasures I derive from a separate world I dive into everytime I lose myself within the pages of a book. I never used to have this sickness. As a matter of fact, I've read Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire exactly twelve times without getting tired of it. But given recent developments, I doubt that I would bring myself to turn the front cover of the book in a very long time, or even worse, ever at all. I sincerely hope that this is just a minor setback. All this psychological bullshit is just too much for me.
Please, I need an escape; I need release. So help me God.
No comments:
Post a Comment