There was a parallel universe she existed in when she read. It was a blank world. Just her sitting there reading. Another's parallel universe, if matching her own liking for books, would have been under a tree on a beach in an exotic place, or on a bench in a park, or at a crowded train station. Fun as that imagination might have been, she had yet to experience reading in those places. Of course, she read in a park and on the beach, but those were rare occasions. She found the notion of being engrossed in a book in the outside world very romantic and often felt proud of her ability to read with noise around, she often preferred it as it expressed her choice to ignore the world louder.
Why was there an urge to ignore the world, she often found herself wondering. A part of the world gave its opinions, disapproved, judged, rejected, hated, belittled, frowned too readily for her comfort. She had no idea how to face that world, when her head was cool it told her to remain passive and say nothing. Such thoughts saw the day of light sometimes, but most of the time there was regret at how they got to her and she let them, or at how she always tried to say something but failed to get it across and mumbled something till she silently accepted defeat.
Guilt settled in later, she knew she'd give herself to guilt but frustration and anger came first. Was she even capable of anger? Everybody is, if rightly provoked. She hid her anger well, but not her frustration. She didn't know why she tried to hide a few things, the world will know sooner or later. Something you say or do will give it away no matter how hard you try. She knew herself to be a simpleton, or perhaps liked that idea of her self because it was the perfect excuse for some of the things she did.
Yet. There was another part of the world, an accepting, kind world. It was there, always there. So when she wanted an escape, she thought she was simply escaping the "evil" part, but in reality she wasn't. She was shutting away the kindness too. She only realized that recently, and it scared her that she was capable of that. Why did she want to shut the world outside when it was as ready to accept as it was to reject? But losing one's self to a book, life fading away, and not having to think of your worries but of the worries the characters are facing is very tempting. And comforting. Life could be much worse for her, books told her that. But the real world can tell you that, too, except in a harsher way. A way she couldn't handle, perhaps.
Hiding behinds books, words, characters and an alternative parallel universe. What good does that do?
Why was there an urge to ignore the world, she often found herself wondering. A part of the world gave its opinions, disapproved, judged, rejected, hated, belittled, frowned too readily for her comfort. She had no idea how to face that world, when her head was cool it told her to remain passive and say nothing. Such thoughts saw the day of light sometimes, but most of the time there was regret at how they got to her and she let them, or at how she always tried to say something but failed to get it across and mumbled something till she silently accepted defeat.
Guilt settled in later, she knew she'd give herself to guilt but frustration and anger came first. Was she even capable of anger? Everybody is, if rightly provoked. She hid her anger well, but not her frustration. She didn't know why she tried to hide a few things, the world will know sooner or later. Something you say or do will give it away no matter how hard you try. She knew herself to be a simpleton, or perhaps liked that idea of her self because it was the perfect excuse for some of the things she did.
Yet. There was another part of the world, an accepting, kind world. It was there, always there. So when she wanted an escape, she thought she was simply escaping the "evil" part, but in reality she wasn't. She was shutting away the kindness too. She only realized that recently, and it scared her that she was capable of that. Why did she want to shut the world outside when it was as ready to accept as it was to reject? But losing one's self to a book, life fading away, and not having to think of your worries but of the worries the characters are facing is very tempting. And comforting. Life could be much worse for her, books told her that. But the real world can tell you that, too, except in a harsher way. A way she couldn't handle, perhaps.
Hiding behinds books, words, characters and an alternative parallel universe. What good does that do?
2/8/2011
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