Through reading I experience solitude and quietness encircling me. With me relishing and imagining every chapter I begin to realize that it also becomes a moment of self awareness and examination. You pause at certain lines that struck a chord in you. When I become vulnerable and sensitive at some point certain flashes of my life’s scenes are replayed in my mind. It is with reading too that I try to reflect back on matters and decisions I have made recounting failures, detours and success that makes the human in me whole.
A month and a half ago again I pushed myself getting to the big city. I brought with me two bags full of clothes and 2 pairs of shoes. My newly bought 2 books last December were also properly stashed in my backpack plus the third book I have not finished reading yet. I was doubly deciding in bringing it because it has really been a while. I was torn between finishing its last pages as to the two new books waiting, excitedly enticing my eyes and mind to unfold what’s in them. I ended up still bringing it.
As of this moment, I am finished reading it. I started reading one of the new books two weeks ago. I read slow. Relishing every word my mind captures. Imagining the characters in the scenes on how they move, how they converse down to some antics uniquely described by the author. I am not into voracious consumption kind of reading. When I read, I open my soul until it satisfies me. I may not finish the whole book in one sitting but on every chapter that strikes my attention it feeds a part of me. It opens me to a flow of creative ideas and it reconnects my mental self to a deeper understanding of life-like situations and just toughen up.