Wednesday, October 13, 2010

On Getting Lost

There are days when I wanted to get lost.

There were numerous occasions when I thought of going away for awhile and leave what I have right now to look for something. What bugs me is that I don't know what exactly I am looking for. This is probably the reason why this hasn't happened yet. I was thinking of going somewhere alone just for the sake of having time for myself. I forgot how it was to not think about anything, other than wandering off and getting lost. Lucky if I have money to spend  and a destination to go to. But if I don't, I go and find some bookstore. 

There were days when after a tedious day at work, no matter how tired I am, I would wander aimlessly, stopping by all the bookstores I can find and immerse myself to whatever I can get my hands with. I read books, those which are already ready for free reading. If I find a book that isn't open yet and it catches my fancy, I sneak in a corner and open it. In bookstores I can go to the past or fast forward to future. I can go back to high school or to my some home ticking off what I have already accomplished in my bucket list. I can jet set to fashionable cities of New York, Paris, Tokyo, Milan or I can go deep inside forest and scream my lungs out when I see the big, brown wolf.  When I have books, I get lost. I get into somebody's shoes and read their thoughts. For a moment, I almost feel like I was somewhere and someone else. Leafing over through pages and pages of happiness, misery, triumph, and despair. I'm lucky that characters in most of my books and I think the same way ... or It's just me thinking we're all the same? (What a selfish thought). All of these I can do, at the comforts of some couch, carpeted floor, or comforts of my bed. 

I get high smelling pages of books. A whiff of the book's paper gets me giddy. Sometimes, as weird as it sounds, I buy books based on how they smell. Often, I end up buying them regardless if they're already musty. What I like most is getting second hand books and ending up getting those that came from the other parts of the world. With small scribbles or underlined quotes from former owners. Makes me think why they did it. Funny how sometimes I find myself liking the same passages. It must be fate, or something. 

I was told to take care of my books. There are times when I would meticulously cover them, spending hours and hours of covering them with plastic covers. But now, I have my books uncovered. I like how the embossed covers feel as I run my fingers to each letters-- smooth or textured , soft or hardbound. One of the things I was told not to do was to highlight them. But I get the satisfaction of sliding my fluorescent marker across passages to remember them. Specifically, I use green highlighters. It actually started when I read about people communicating with their books. Some people write on the margins. Some people, draw around their books. But since I write in script, often messy handwriting, I opted not to write anything. Instead highlight whatever I find is interesting. I feel a different connection with my books when I do this. Years after I highlighted a portion and some of the colour has faded, I re-do the marking while remember why I ended up choosing the specific line. Today, I highlighted the words, "French, Feel, Finger, Fuck." Good alliteration. 

There are days when I wanted to get lost. 

If I could go somewhere, I would. But until that day when I can finally afford a plane ticket to some far off destination, I guess the books will do. 

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Just so you know, right now I am in Culver Creek Boarding School, Alabama getting the shock of my life when I learned somebody died.
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