My affair with books
I just finished my first book of the year!! Tony Parson's "One for my baby". Intricately written and emotionally gripping - a splendid read.
The thing about reading that fascinates me is how often I find myself being transported to a whole new different world, albeit surreal world. I read "One for my baby" which is set in London and Hong Kong - the sights, smells and people. And for moments, I find myself immersed in deep thoughts as I picture that scene in my head. How did it feel to be in Hongkong in 1997 as a Londoner working there? Is Tsingtao really that delicious a drink? What does it mean to be back in London and missing your life and lost love in Hong Kong? What does it mean to grapple with the fact that your parents are going through a divorce when you are dealing with the loss of a loved one through death?
Or I could be reading books by Catherine Lim, often set in the early Malayan days.. mansions with huge courtyards, bondmaids, lecherous greying men with this opium pipes, westerners termed by locals as gweilos, colonialism, chinese traditions.. and I take myself back in time and try to fathom what it would have felt like. How does it feel to be subjugated by the men who deemed themselves as superior because of the bulge between their limbs? How dire and demeaning it must have felt to be bestowed to an older man in marriage, where love and passion know no destination and shelter?
Chris Manby. I read her chick flick books for light-hearted romantic comedy dosage. I laugh at the antics of the protagonist as she sought for love in all the wrong places, yet how often it was an acute reflection of my own life! I giggled as I read about how one chuckles and laments over new/lost love in the most exaggerated fashion. I teared as I read how one berates oneself for deeds of yesterday which caused one's love.
Far fetched imagination.
Transportation back in time.
Whizzing myself out of my current reality.
Hallucinating a life I never had or will possibly not have.
All those - books - reading - they intrigued me constantly. I feel, with the books. I don't just read them. Most times, I feel that I am reading a figment of my life, be it present or past or possibly the future.
Do you feel the same?
The thing about reading that fascinates me is how often I find myself being transported to a whole new different world, albeit surreal world. I read "One for my baby" which is set in London and Hong Kong - the sights, smells and people. And for moments, I find myself immersed in deep thoughts as I picture that scene in my head. How did it feel to be in Hongkong in 1997 as a Londoner working there? Is Tsingtao really that delicious a drink? What does it mean to be back in London and missing your life and lost love in Hong Kong? What does it mean to grapple with the fact that your parents are going through a divorce when you are dealing with the loss of a loved one through death?
Or I could be reading books by Catherine Lim, often set in the early Malayan days.. mansions with huge courtyards, bondmaids, lecherous greying men with this opium pipes, westerners termed by locals as gweilos, colonialism, chinese traditions.. and I take myself back in time and try to fathom what it would have felt like. How does it feel to be subjugated by the men who deemed themselves as superior because of the bulge between their limbs? How dire and demeaning it must have felt to be bestowed to an older man in marriage, where love and passion know no destination and shelter?
Chris Manby. I read her chick flick books for light-hearted romantic comedy dosage. I laugh at the antics of the protagonist as she sought for love in all the wrong places, yet how often it was an acute reflection of my own life! I giggled as I read about how one chuckles and laments over new/lost love in the most exaggerated fashion. I teared as I read how one berates oneself for deeds of yesterday which caused one's love.
Far fetched imagination.
Transportation back in time.
Whizzing myself out of my current reality.
Hallucinating a life I never had or will possibly not have.
All those - books - reading - they intrigued me constantly. I feel, with the books. I don't just read them. Most times, I feel that I am reading a figment of my life, be it present or past or possibly the future.
Do you feel the same?
posted by Shazza at Monday, January 10, 2005
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