Of Love, Literature

`If I turned towards books, it was because they were the only sanctuary I knew, one I needed in order to survive, to protect some aspect of myself that was now in constant retreat.` from Reading Lolita in Tehran by Azar Nafisi.
(FOREWORD: THIS WILL BE IN ALL CAPS BECAUSE IM USING A DIFFERENT COMPUTER WITH A FUNKY KEYBOARD... BECAUSE ITS JAPANESE AND ITS EXHAUSTING TO HOLD DOWN THE SHIFT BUTTON. SO MY BAD GUYS. I PROMISE IM NOT YELLING AT YOU. AND FORGIVE MY LACK OF APOSTROPHES-- ITS IN A FUNNY PLACE THATS TOO AWKWARD TO REACH.)

JOURNAL ENTRY DOCUMENTED 5/20/11, 7 PM IN THE ITALIAN LEATHERBOUND NOTEBOOK MY WONDERFUL BROTHER BOUGHT ME AS A GOING AWAY PRESENT FROM BARNES AND NOBLE. THIS ENTRY BEGAN ON PAGE 288 OF THE JOURNAL AND ENDS ON 292. YES, I WRITE THAT MUCH.

IVE FALLEN IN LOVE AGAIN. IM NOT SURE WHEN IT HAPPENED THE FIRST TIME--IN FACT, IM CONVINCED IT WAS A GRADUAL, SUBTLE PROCESS. I SOUGHT IT BECAUSE UPON ENTERING COLLEGE, I WAS GOOD AT ENGLISH. AND MY ANXIETY WAS, IN FACT, LITERATURE. I FELT SO SMALL AND UNWORTHY--IN FACT, I FELT missing COMPARED TO IT. DR LEE AT KWC (MY FIRST SCHOOL) ENCOURAGED ME IN ALL THINGS LITERATURE, AND AFTER I TRANSFERRED TO WKU, I REALIZED MY ENTHUSIASM AND HIGH ESTEEM TURNED TO A GREATER NEED, AND UNEXPLAINABLE PASSION. THE GREAT AUTHORS--OR MY FAVORITE ONES, ANYWAY--MADE ME ACCEPT THE NOT-SO-NEW LOVE OF MY LIFE.
READING LOLITA IN TEHRAN (BY NAFISI), AND ALSO CREDITING DOSTOEVSKY`S CRIME AND PUNISHMENT, HAS MADE ME WAKE UP TO MYSELF, MY INNER PASSION, MY SELF THAT ISN:T LOST. MY LOVE FOR LITERATURE.
SEE, I THINK PC IS MENTALLY TOUGHENING, BUT EQUALLY STRAINING, BECAUSE I FEEL THAT MY VERY BEING IS SHAPED INTO THIS QUESTION MARK. HERE, TONGANS HAVE THIS PERCEPTION OF ME: SINGLE PALANGI TEACHER WHO IS SOCIAL BUT PRIVATE AND HAS WEIRD HABITS AND DOESNT SHARE FOOD LIKE TONGANS.
BACK HOME, IM WORDS ON A BLOG PAGE OR A FACE IN A PICTURE FRAME. SOMETIMES A VOICE IN A 30-MIN PHONE CONVERSATION. BEFORE I LEFT, ONE OF MY BEST FRIENDS IN THE WHOLE WORLD EMAILED THAT SHE FELT THAT MY GOING AWAY PARTY WAS LIKE A FUNERAL, AND SHE WAS REALLY UPSET THAT I WAS LEAVING FOR SO LONG. AT THE TIME I THOUGHT, WOAH--THATS MORBID, BUT NOW I UNDERSTAND. TO MYSELF, IM VACANT. AND I LITERALLY MEAN THAT, TO MYSELF. I STARE EMPTILY AND OFTEN AT NOTHING IN PARTICULAR. MOSTLY AT A WALL IN MY KITCHEN (TO WHICH IVE POSTED TONGAN PRONOUNS, HOPING THAT IN TIME, THOSE PRONOUNS WILL BE IMPRINTED IN MY BRAIN MATTER.) HERE, IN MY VILLAGE, IM PHYSICALLY PRESENT BUT EMOTIONALLY AND SPIRITUALLY GUARDED. THESE PEOPLE WON:T REALLY KNOW ME, AND THOUGH THEY CARE IN A TONGAN WAY (I.E. YOU NEED TONGAN FOOD AND A TONGAN HUSBAND), IM NOT REAL TO THEM. IM THEIR PALANGI PEACE CORPS PROJECTION OF WHAT A PALANGI PEACE CORPS IS. THEY DONT CARE SO MUCH ABOUT THE SPECIFICS OF MY SPECIFICS, BUT ONLY BECAUSE ITS COMPLETELY FOREIGN TO THEM. I MOSTLY ACCEPT THIS ROLE.
MY SELFISH SIDE DOESNT LIKE TO ACCEPT MY VACANCY ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WORLD, THOUGH. I FEEL HURT WHEN AN EMAIL I SENT A WEEK AGO IS LEFT UNANSWERED WHEN I HIKED MY ARSE OFF AND NO ONE OFFERED ME A RIDE AND I PLAYED $3 FOR ONE HOUR OF WORDS FROM HOME THAT DONT CURRENTLY EXIST.
ITS NOT THE GUILT TRIP IT SEEMS TO BE. I PROMISE. IN FACT, IT ACTUALL is SELFISH, BECAUSE MY SELF LOVE IS HURT THAT LIFE IN CLEAN LIFE GOES ON SO EASILY WITHOUT ME. AND THOUGH IM THE PEACE CORPS FRIEND, THE FAMILY MEMBER IN TONGA, AND MY `LEGACY` IS IN AMERICA, IM UNSEEN, UNTOUCHED, UNHEARD. NO ONE IS WITNESSING MY VASTLY IMPROVING AND CREATIVE COOKING ABILITIES, MY SILLY NEW HABITS (TOOTHPASTE IN THE FRIDGE, NOT FLUSHING WHEN I PEE), MY IMPROVING TONGAN SPEECH, MY SHOWER RITUALS, MY KID SIZED BED WITH MY FEET DANGLING OFF THE END, MY MOSQUITO NET BED CAVE, MY EYES THAT INSTANTLY TEAR FROM ONIONS OR A BEAUTIFUL NIGHT SKY. YOU CAN ONLY READ THESE THINGS- AND IF YOU KNOW ME- CAN PROBABLY HEAR MY VOICE. BUT ITS VERY TRYING, FEELING GHOST-LIKE. NOT SEEING MY YOUNGEST NIECE`S FIRST STEPS, MISSING MY BABY BROTHER:S COLLEGE GRADUATION NEXT YEAR, WANTING RANDOM GETAWAYS WITH MY BEST FRIENDS, NEEDING TO HEAR STORIES FROM MY AMAZINGLY SMART 3 YEAR OLD NIECE, EATING BROWNIE BATTER WITH MY SISTER. MY PARENTS` AMAZING HUGS. BECAUSE JUST AS IM VACANT FROM THEM, THEY, TOO, ARE ONLY WORDS IN EMAILS, FACES IN PICTURES, OR VOICES IN 30 MIN CONVOS (IF IM LUCKY AND MY PHONE COOPERATES.)
ALL THIS SOUNDS DEPRESSING, DOESNT IT? AS IF IM AT THE END OF MY WITS, AS THOUGH ILL NEVER AGAIN EAT BELGIAN CHOCOLATE OR SING INTO A SPATULA WITH MY MOM IN THE KITCHEN. BUT IM NOT DEPRESSED. IM UNDERSTANDING NOW WHERE SAD FEELINGS ARE PENETRATING FROM. AND I KNOW THAT ALL THIS READING ISNT A SAD, EMPTY FILLER TO EXTRA TIME ON MY HANDS.
I AM IN LOVE WITH LITERATURE BECAUSE ITS NOT JUST WORDS ON A PAGE. IT IS A WONDERFUL PLACE WHERE I EXPERIENCE SO MANY ENVIRONMENTS, SEE SO MANY CHARACTERS, FEEL THEIR TURMOIL AND JOYS, TASTE THEIR EMOTIONS, HEAR THEIR INTERACTIONS, ITS A PLACE WHERE IM NOT JUDGED AND DONT JUDGE (UNLESS ITS CONTEMPORARY CHRISTIAN FICTION. EESH.) AND THOUGH I LOVE THESE WORLDS, THEYRE NOT MINE, IM MERELY VISITING. BUT THAT EPIPHANIC MOMENT, THAT LOVELY, SURPRISING GROWTH TO MY OWN SOUL--THATS MINE TO KEEP.
BOOKS HAVE BEEN A CONSTANT COMPANION TO ME, ON A SERIOUS LEVEL, FOR 5 YEARS NOW. IVE SLEPT ON THEM, CUDDLED THEM, THROWN THEM, TOOK ENTHUSIASTIC NOTES IN THEM, SCHOWLED AT THEM, WEPT AT THEM, LAUGHED AT THEIR SARCASM, ENHALED THEIR WONDERFUL, FAMILIAR SMELL, AND CARESSED THEIR SMOOTH COVER.
I SUPPOSE I COULD SOUND PSYCHOTIC TO SOME. ITS OKAY, I ACCEPT IT. ALL I CAN SAY IS THAT WITH EVERY BOOK, A SMALL or large (IN CASES OF BLUE LIKE JAZZ BY DON MILLER OR THE CAGED VIRGIN BY AYAN HIRSI ALI), PIECE OF IGNORANCE IS SCRAPED AWAY. SURE, I GAIN KNOWLEDGE, BUT I GAIN UNDERSTANDING ABOUT THE WORLD, MYSELF. I SEE CHARACTERISTICS I STRIVE TO GAIN, BELIEFS I SEEK TO UNDERSTAND, PAIN I WISH I DIDNT. I SEE FAMILIARITY, RELATIVITY. SOMETIMES I SEE REFLECTIONS OF MYSELF: MY PAST SELF, A CRUDE AND JUDGMENTAL BUT CONFUSED GIRL WHO NEEDED TO FIND HERSELF.
AND ITS BECAUSE OF BOOKS THAT I UNVEILED WHO I THOUGHT I WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A BIRTHED A PERSON I DIDNT NEARLY HATE ANYMORE. A GIRL WITH GENUINE COMPASSION, GOALS, CARES STRUGGLES. BECAUSE OF THOUSANDS, MILLIONS OF PAGES, I ESCAPED AND WAS FINALLY RELEASED.
IT ALL SOUNDS ROMANTIC, DOESNT IT? LIKE I SHOULD TAKE MR. LITERATURE HOME AND INTRODUCE HIM TO MY PARENTS OR SOMETHING. ITS ROMANTIC AND ITS SOMETHING A BOOK NERD WOULD SAY, WHICH MAKES IT FITTING THAT THE ROMANTIC PERIOD IS MY FAVORITE IN ART AND LITERATURE. BUT TRY AND HEAR MY CONVICTION IN THESE WORDS, TUCKED BETWEEN SYLLABLES AND SCRAPPY PUNCTUATION. AND ALL CAPS LETTERS. (SORRY, I HOPE YOUR EYES ARE ADJUSTED.)

IVE NEVER BEEN MORE PHYSICALLY ISOLATED OR ALONE, BUT EMOTIONALLY, I HAVE. GOOD NEWS IS THAT BOOKS PREVENT TOO MUCH SECLUSION. AND I DONT REALLY FEEL VICTIMIZED BY LONELINESS- IN FACT, BEING ALONE IS A BLESSING RIGHT NOW, MOST OF THE TIME. BUT IN MY SECLUSION, I CAN LOOK AT A CLIFF ON A CLOUDY DAY AND PICTURE A SCENE FROM A BRONTE OR AUSTEN NOVEL. I CAN HAVE A FRUITFUL BIBLE STUDY WITH A LOVELY WOMAN WHO HOLDS DIFFERENT BELIEFS FROM ME, BUT BECAUSE OF DON MILLER, ANN LAMOTT, AND JESUS HIMSELF, WE CAN PEACEFULLY MARVEL AT HOW COOL OF A GUY JESUS WAS. READING DOES THAT.
IVE THROWN MYSELF INTO THE WRITTEN WORD BECAUSE I DONT HAVE TO RUSH TO UNDERSTAND OR BE QUICK TOACT IN CONTRAST WITH THE SPOKEN WORD.IVE GOT TIME TO FORM OPINIONS, THEORIES, ATTACHMENTS. AND THIS SUITS ME BECAUSE THE SPOKEN WORD IS NOT MY STRENGTH. WHERE I FORMALLY WAS HASTY TO EXPRESS ILL-FORMED OPINIONS, NOW ID RATHER BE SILENT AND BROOD OVER SOMETHING IN MY NOTEBOOK. AND HERE, IM NOT VACANT, BUT ALIVE, FUNCTIONING, AND IN MY TRUE FORM.

*AUTHORS NOTE: THANKS FOR BARING WITH THE EYE-BOGGLING ALL CAPS AND QUITE SERIOUS SUBJECT MATTER. MAYBE NEXT TIME ILL TELL A JOKE. OR A FUNNY STORY. LIKE HOW I DREAM OF MY FATHER`S GRILLED BURGERS WHILE TRYING TO OVERCOME TERRIBLE CONSTIPATION DUE TO TOO MANY BREADS AND OTHER BOWEL-CLOGGING FOODS.