Breakthroughs on Reading

Just as lovers monitor every dark corner to find a secret spot on the earth where to unfold their love, so I euphorically search for my new reading to find a hidden place where to unfold my wings. Although reading has been unjustly regarded as a high-brow experience, only oriented for cultivated and erudite people, the truth is everybody can dig deeper into the grounds of literature. If I thought of reading books as a pitiful exercise of resolving mathematic problems, I would not love to open a book and even less to go through its pages. As I understand, in order to make the reading process enjoyable, I need to be aware of three important factors; namely, reading means time for myself, it is a reflecting activity, and more important, it is a process which tells something actively and directly about me.

Reading provides me with a constant and renewable source of quality time. It is easier to picture this thought if I become aware of one of the most beautiful conditions for this activity: to be alone. Solitude is not depressing; it is a beauty salon where all the mirrors sculp my own self. Leaving this metaphor, as an unmistakable son of this modern time, I find myself struggling for not having enough time to spend alone. Not that I have a very busy and feverish life, but when spare time shows up its head, sometimes I get easily drowned by thousands of unmeaningful and unexpected distractions that were neither relevant nor planned. Reading means time not only well-invested but also embellished.

Going further, reading as a contemplating activity helps me to reflect about what I read, what I think, and what I perceive. To grab a book is one of the most efficient forms of knowledge, and I do not even have to leave my room. Besides, I am always turning over my head what I read and what I think about it because rethinking is the most powerful radar to discover new things around me that I am not always aware of. I can see how my perception over the world changes through reading. No doubt, contemplating, reflecting, and rethinking are vital tools to embark myself on the boat of a gripping reading.

Having shown those two cards on the table, more important is to be aware of the often overlooked fact that reading does not have to be detached from myself; on the contrary, reading has to do with me; reading can be about me; reading is similar to looking at the pieces of a puzzle, and when contemplated together, those pieces show my own face. Becoming aware of this insightful factor makes me recognize silhouettes of my traits, drawings of my thoughts, shapes of my emotions. Reading is not anymore, a scenario brought into existence by the hand of someone else, but a symmetric mirror which vivid image reflects my traits, thoughts, and feelings.

Ultimately, even though some people perceive reading as a fastidious task, reading symbolizes a blue and ethereal sky for me to unfold the wings of my imagination. Reading is not decoding complex and abstract soliloquies written for highly smart people. I am always able to meet the other “me” who lies down on a page, behind a character, or across a story. Quality time for myself, reflecting activity as a boost for my brain, and a story on my own terms are wonderful breakthroughs that my own self-awakening to this marvelous activity has left me since I grabbed my first book.

Naoko Never Loved Me.

Has anyone seen that movie “you’ve got mail”?

Well, for those of you who haven’t, there is a scene where Kathleen Kelly is chatting with Joe and asks him about the expression “go to the mattresses”, Joe straight away recognized the expression from the Mario Puzo’s book “the godfather”. Furthermore, He says: “

The Godfather is the I Ching. The

Godfather is the sum of all wisdom. The

Godfather is the answer to any question.

What should I pack for my summer

vacation? “Leave the gun, take the

cannoli.”

I have a book like that as well, a source of all wisdom, a book which contains the answers to any existential threatening question.

I had re-read repeatedly “Norwegian wood”, but specially the first 30 minutes of reading are essential to follow each one of the treads unfolded later in the story.

For a reason I can’t still determine I continue coming back over and over to the very beginning of this book. I’m obsessed with this book and this beginning. All the adjectives used by Murakami send a shadow through me. I felt cornered, I felt kind of blue, I’m not saved anymore through these lines. Something happening on a windy hill top cast me away and surreptitiously ambushed me in the middle of the woods. I felt falling beneath the ground, into an enormous hole that one day will swallow my existence forever.

I had spent plenty of time thinking upon “Norwegian wood”, about the Beatles song, the context, characters from the lyrics and characters from the book. I had dreamed of impossible atmospheres, I thought of blue color, yellow frames, faces and masquerades painted in sepia. I dedicated an entire night just for counting the amount of inflections that a narrator has to perform to completely convey feelings and emotions contained in every word since the very beginning.

You can call me crazy, but some books are written in a way that come back to life every time they are read. I mean, they come back to life, they breath, eat and shake hands with you. Those books want to be haird, they always have something to say beyond any forgettable moment, they reach out enlightenment only to boil down euphoria and bring vivid colors back to the world of the undead.

For those of you who haven’t read “Norwegian wood”, there is a female character who stands out for her mental instability, is not a mental patient, is worst, she suffers from existential “pathos”, a nothing rare disease in modern life. However, in a way, we all have something from Naoko.

But I don’t want to waste my time writing lines I don’t understand. I write to grasp, to understand, to empower myself over “Lady Chaos”, however when I start feeling starry and dizzy my ideas and my hands refuse to move. “Desolation road” is my constant poisoner and locks me in a dungeon, sadness takes over my heart, it’s like a prison cell where you can check in, but you can never leave.

I will re-read the first 30 minutes of Norwegian wood. After all, we all need some certainties and when I need a piece of wisdom I pull my book out and bring back to life every adjective lurking through my bedroom’s furniture’s.

The first 30 minutes end with this line:

“The thought fills me with an almost unbearable sorrow. Because Naoko never loved me.”

PD: In order to navigate through the book, I measure reading time, 30 minutes is, factually, the whole first chapter.