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Wednesday, January 2, 2013

The Book And The Reader: The End Is The Beginning Is The End



There are things in our lives that we don’t expect to happen, things that come to our lives and surprise us with happy and sad things.  There are exaggerated things, and there are also little things that to the eyes of others, it is superficial.  

I give you a story of a book.  I opened a very surprising book last 2012.  I’ve been noticing this book for quite some time already but never really thought of picking it up and opening it.

It was there lying beautifully on the shelf at the business store attracting my attention.  Finally one day, I got to check out the book.  At first I can’t seem to open it, I was just admiring its cover and read what was written behind it.  I got a glimpse of what was to happen. Well, honestly, I didn’t like it. It was scary.  But it was very striking not to open it, I said to myself, “I have to read it”. 

I’m always attracted to good books; books that make me happy and excited reading.  Books that I always think I’d keep on reading over and over again.  It happened already, but I ended up just keeping it to the shelf behind the door.

So finally, the day has come. I opened the book taking a risk of how much I may invest in.  And wow! It was beautiful.  Reading the first part was so exciting and everything was happening so fast.  I never felt tired reading it.  I always look forward to open it and read it.  Smile is always in my face every time I face this book, and don’t notice the time spending with it.

The story was about love, humor, adventure, and a few dramas.  It was unpredictable; it sometimes makes me sad and happy at the same time.  But a lot of times it makes me happy holding it close to me, staring at it, reading its words.  I cherish the moments I get to hold of it.

As I was reaching the middle of it, it had given me overwhelming emotions that I stopped reading it because it was beginning to become heartbreaking.  I wasn’t ready for it although I was already expecting it.  After a few days of seeing it just sitting around my table, with its cover right up facing me, I took a deep breath and started opening it again knowing that that part might happen again on the next chapters.  I had to take the chance, because I loved the book, I missed it.

As I read the next chapters, it was starting to become attractive again.  Then after a few chapters, it began to become confusing and out of control sometimes.  The jump of the topic and stories were like manic-depressive.  It was, most of the times, to the extremes.  But my interest and love that was built overtime for this book kept on pushing me to read it.  The two characters were even more confused than I was.  On and off, hot and cold, yes and no; which reminded me of that Katy Perry song.  I felt for the two characters; I know their hearts’ sides, and I felt deep sympathy on both of them being in their situation.  It wasn’t their fault, it was just their goddamn circumstance.

The story was getting the same premise every chapter until it surprisingly ended.  That’s when I noticed that the book was just thin and with just a few words on some chapters.  I wanted to read it more but it was over. Only blank pages left.

It was shocking for me.  Why did it end that way? The brightly colored pages became dull and dusty. It’s like the last pages were once wet and just dried up. It was sad. It was too sudden.  But something behind my head that tells me, “Well, that’s just it.  Learn to accept it.”

My heart didn’t want to close the book and wanted to start reading it on the first two chapters where it was the happiest.  But the book insisted itself to just shut down as if it was in control of me.  I can’t do anything, but close it.

 I was sitting on my bed, feeling heavy and drowned that the book is over.  I know that this book will be one of those that will be put in the shelf and be forgotten overtime.  I know I might just get a glimpse of it every time I pass by that worn out shelf, and just walk pass by it without remembering what story it has that made me got interested and fell in love with it. But all I know that time was I love it so much. I love the stories and the characters.  I love the pictures of what could have happened if it had a part two.  I love the cover and the words used in it.  I love the book even if I would imagine that it would be worn out over time from continuous reading. I just inexplicably love it.

I put the book over my headboard since I think I wasn’t ready in throwing it away.  Thinking what if time will allow me to open it again, and this moment, I would understand the story it was trying to tell me.  The hidden messages that were covered in the shadows of the misprints it had.  Or probably there will be a part two of this book that would be livelier and will end in a happy ending. What if, what if, what if.

Another side of me tells me not to hope and expect that this book will have a second one because it was not a pretty one.  Probably only a few of us would understand this book or fall in love with this book as it is, because, again…it was confusing.  No one in their right mind would continue to read it. I guess I was just too insane to still think this book was fantastic and would end well.

Now I don’t know what will happen with my amore and with this book.  It could end up lost or kept. Or it could end up me reading it all over again. But I hope I won’t keep on waiting for the part two that most likely wouldn’t come.  

All I really wanted is a book like a bible; something that even if it has all the ingredients of dramas and laughter, it would still make me grow, and ponder how happy I am having a book like one, and would bring me more closer to God’s love.  Something I wouldn’t wait for a part two, or three, because I love reading it over and over and over again with pure love and excitement.  Something I would carry everyday and open every hour, or minute, or even seconds.  That would be a wonderful book.  When will I find one?

For now, all I can say is, I still love this book just the same when I first opened it, I miss this book so much that I don’t miss taking a glimpse, but it hurts me with the stories it tells me.  I am confused.

In the end, this is just a book, even if it matters to me, the reader never matters to a book.

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