As pieces of art stir dormant ideas of mine, colorful bed cloth keep me warm in a lazy saturday morning, and feelings are pushed to numbness very meaningly so… I break the streak that has keeping me away from the necessary occasional purging –a new post– for a while now.
I do not like that word, purge, it has a rudeness about it, but right now I can’t think of any other word that suits best with I wanted to say.
Life is not as you read it in books, or as you see it in the movies. Wake up from delusion. There is a moment in life when most of us are faced with this universally accepted fact.
On one side… Most people’s lives are not major book sellers.
And to be honest, I have found it absurd how inspiring, helpful and/or reassuring fiction characters can be for me, feeling in my element with them more than with my own flesh and bones life companions; and also, I have found myself blaming the words that have encouraged the validity of my own idea of love.
On the other side… Lives –real or invented– just happen. Books aim a detailed explanation of them. And there are many types of books.
My own monotonous life, simple to the common eye, has enough material to create a book; my single unimportant life has a storage of thoughts, events, feelings, hopes and eye witnessed recollections to fill an encyclopedia sized novel.
You are allowed to say that my life is too boring to make a good book, that my inclination to loneliness, early night days, and home nesting happiness is unnatural; that the stories you read in adventure books, the passionate romances in others; the shocking happenings, the great ambitions… are all missing.
But there is so much that happens in life that no one ever gets to see… a thought that was stored in subconscious to oblivion by the same person who thought about it; a 300 meter walk home that held a life changing event; a 40 year spam life that went on without thrilling events, public glory or defeat; a person who lived taking care of cows until death came. Get into written intrusive and elegant detail about them, and that life is to be read on a book.
Try to describe someone watching a sunset and the sunset itself, assume that’s all this person used to do in life. Describe how it looks, describe how it looks to him; describe those minutes, describe him and what he feels; describe what you feel towards him. You have got a book right there, and a very good one in the right writer’s hands.
I conclude life is every bit as special, dramatic, exiting, impetuous, peculiar, and any other qualificative you know a book can be. A book just gives us the time and space to realize it, to elaborate it. A lack of big events in the physical world is possible, but a lack of events in the heart or the mind is impossible, whether you are aware of it or not.
Life is not as you read it in books. False.
…After all, I have seen long ago married 70 year olds that still hold their hands walking by.