The transformative power of Books.

I have recently been undergoing a quiet emotional rebirth. For a long time, in fact for the past few years, I had begun to notice a slow decline in my capacity to feel; Anything really. In a lot of ways, I am still not at the optimum level when it comes to feelings, perhaps I was always emotionally stunted, or the onset of numbness is something all of us go through after turmoil.

I think this renewed onset of feelings has to do with rediscovering my reading prowess. I am quite impressed by how much I can read without distraction. My mother recently asked me about my progress and I happily informed her about the many books that I had read in the last couple of weeks.

The transformative power of a good book is hard to explain. An immersive narrative can take the reader through a journey that has the capacity to provide immense satisfaction. How I wish, life could be like that. If everyday was a new adventure, one might never be prone to bouts of melancholy.

Then again, constant adventures can become monotonous and lead to ennui; something I dread. I have yet to start reading poetry again. Perhaps my renewed interest in fiction will progress to rediscovering my love for poetry, one can only hope.

I know that books and reading is terribly personal. But I can't help but feel that the world would be a much better place if there were more readers amongst us. This thought stems from my own emotional growth. Because, as I've discovered, there is no experience as thrilling as reading a story well told. 

Sometimes I wonder about my life, I live a small life; mostly a self communing life, I wonder if I died tomorrow will someone mourn me....I know some would. But what kind of a life have I lead?

I wanted my life to have meaning. A few weeks ago, I read the news about someone's death, someone I really admired. It got me thinking, he meant so much to me even if he was a celebrity, I felt liberated watching his celebrated travel show, through him I was able to do things I wish I could and see lands I have yearned to see since the time I was little. I don't understand why reading about his death affected me so. He was after all a complete stranger, the persona he had created for himself tragically consumed him. But I have also found myself sympathizing, I do know what it is like to be consumed by dark thoughts, I understand the wave of melancholy that can suddenly hit out of the blue, and the control it takes to present a decent face to society.

I recently disgraced myself by giving in to my weakness, I showed emotion in public, something that I have been taught never to do, I wish I could take back my loss of dignity but alas, it is too late. I now feel like the walls are closing in on me. I just had to write it all down and expect that I shall recover, you see I have found that the true test of character is to be able to pick oneself up after a fall. 

I know, that this particular blog is not the upbeat post readers expect of me but for the time being I need the salvation that writing brings me in expressing my thoughts. In some ways it gives me the feeling of standing alone in a vast forest screaming at the top of my lungs. It makes me feel like I can express on the page what I can never do in life.   

When reading books becomes a solace for sadness...

Reading for me has become a solace, for me reading was always an escape. Books made me feel less worthless, I felt needed when I read books, now though, it is as if reading is the only pursuit that makes me feel a sense of self worth, I feel beautiful and powerful simultaneously, I feel like I matter and the best thing about reading is that I can live an relive feelings some I shall never feel in my life.....

I had a particularly visceral reaction whilst reading a book where the protagonists kill themselves. I felt relieved in their act of courage, I don't think taking one's life is cowardice, perhaps it is a cultural thing that Indians carry in their DNA, for we have had long a glorious traditions of death by self wish, in fact most religious and cultural traditions view the act of taking one's life as honourable and the greatest act of independence an individual can carry out.

Does that mean that I am suicidal? I think not; but my preoccupation with life and death has intensified for the past couple of years, I find myself pondering questions about things like life after death, the soul, the meaning of existence. I am no philosopher, but I feel that life should have meaning. What I mean to say is that one's life should be led in the pursuit of making someone else's life less painful.

I find the modern age in which we live increasingly selfish, I mean look at the consequences of the selfishness people are increasingly displaying all over the world. This had led to a rise in hatred towards others and caused rifts in society that I fear can't be undone.

In fact I have felt this in my own life and now feel an increasing need to isolate myself. In the absence of good company, I find myself turning towards my only love in life books. I feel that this form of escapism is helping me cope with a lot of bouts of severe melancholia, I end this post with a wish, that I hope others in the same circumstances can discover the balm books are capable of providing.  

New year and new resolves

It is a new year and a new start for my Good reads reading challenge. Last year a breezed through reading 50 books, this year I am increasing my target to 60.

I am a reader, I love books, however, there had been a period in my life when I had stopped reading as many books as I liked, I was much more interested in Netflix, Facebook etc. like so many of my generation I was turning into a sponge for the dredge of nonsense that is social media.

A few years ago, 2016 to be precise, I picked up a well loved novel, and realization struck me that I had only read around 5 books in the whole of 2015. This was in my opinion disgraceful. I had through out my childhood and adolescence, prided myself in my ability to read quickly. My sister and I had a rivalry about how many books we could finish in a week. I won more often than not (she was better at sports and arithmetic!). So this year we have decided to revive the tradition, since last year only I did the Good reads challenge.

I confess that stumbling onto the Good reads thing was fortuitous, because I find that I need goals now to stave off my ennui, I have noticed this tendency in myself recently, which is new! Surprisingly though reading has reintroduced me to a part of myself that was fading away. The part that was capable of great concentration and curiosity.

I have found that part of me again thankfully, and am now determined never to let it slip again. So I begin this new year with the resolve to regain all my capabilities and ambitions that I have let slip away.