i am reading books again... yep, read it right, reading books... not something off the net, not something off a newspaper article -- an honest to goodness 500-pager paper-back... and i did not choose the book i was going to read, rather, it chose me...
have you ever felt so empty that the next best thing you do about it is sleep hoping your dreams fill the void gnawing @ the pit of your consciousness but really knowing that nothing can fill you up...
and it was during that time that i actually saw this book... "the book" -- that would change my life forever... my first reaction was to hate it... really loathe it from the bottom of my soul, i hated it... WHY??? because it felt real... it made my fears take form and i ran alongside them without so much as a breather in between... and i take it with me as i eat, sleep and breathe mediocrity... i have, i found, and i am... the book that he wrote...
"Now, however, time (having no further use for me) is running out. I will soon be thirty years old... Perhaps, if my crumbling, over-used body permits. But i have no hope of saving my life, nor can i count on having even a thousand nights and a night. I must work fast, faster than Scheherazade, if i am to end up meaning -- yes, meaning -- something... I admit: above all things, i fear absurdity..."
why had salman rushdie written those things...? if not to taunt us, to make us feel that our lives wrought with imperfection/s are indeed absurd... but then, i felt compelled, moved by his words, and that's when i decided that i can make him the enemy... or make his words a mirror of my truth...
but then again, this is fiction we're talking about... :)
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