Wednesday, May 9, 2012

Book lover./ Book. Lover.

booklovers IMG_3768
My kind of paradise. What's missing is some sheets, "one not necessarily very beautiful man or woman who loves you", and probably some macarons.

And this is the little cloud that I live on. It's gonna sound so lame but seeing the collection of Jodi Picoult's work lined up so neatly on the shelves got me so thrilled that I had to take a picture of it.

I wish I hadn't read this book yet - just so I could buy it. I almost did, but I managed to knock some sense into my head and remind myself that I don't print cash. Sylvia Plath is one of my favorite poets, and needless to say, The Bell Jar is one of my favorite books. I stood there flipping through the pages, glancing at familiar paragraph of words that I have once surrendered, and will always surrender, to. At that moment I was doleful, because she died at 30. And also because The Bell Jar was her only novel and I thought what a pity that is. I imagined many other compelling novels that she could have written and I already knew I would love every single one of them. And at that moment it struck me how selfish my thoughts are: it saddens me not solely because she died at a young age or what she was going through then, but also because my needs can't be satisfied. Then I thought a bit about how there's no such thing as altruism... I am not kidding. This is really how my thoughts meander and brake and jump every single day.

So I spent about 2 hours at Kino and told myself not to walk out without a good book. But I did, all because of my indecisiveness. I held Emily Brontë's Wuthering Heights, Charlotte Brontë's Jane Eyre , Milan Kundera's The Unbearable Lightness of Being, Haruki Murakami's Norwegian Wood, and Alice Sebold's The Lovely Bones. I just couldn't decide. Currently filled with regret.

My night is hereby empty.

I'm already done with Jodi Picoult's Lone Wolf and David Levithan's The Lover's Dictionary. I thought I could just make do with my pdf version of John Green's Looking for Alaska for the night. But y'know how holding a book in your hands always feels better. Reading from a good old fashioned paper book gives you this certain kind of warmth I can't describe. The only warmth you get from reading off a screen is basically just the heat generated from your laptop.

There are certain things that technology can't replace.

My night is hereby empty.

I am going to bed alone.

And I'm not just talking about the paper anymore.


Anonymous said...

This is completely random but I chanced upon your blog and I just wanted to say, The Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold is one of the most amazing books I have ever read. Please get it.

Kathleen said...

YESS!! I almost did! I will get it soon hehe thanks :D