I ran out of books to read now and since every penny counts to me these days, I never dared to buy new books for my leisure. So out of unbearable boredom, I picked up that old book from our shelf. It was actually my bro’s and I have read it once a long time ago, I was still a freshman in college. I could hardly remember its story; I thought it is because I was not able to relate myself to it the first time I read it or maybe because it really doesn’t have a story after all. But it is such a wonderful novel. Don’t ask me why I call it wonderful when I told you it doesn’t even had a story. I tell you, I could appreciate even the dumbest matter (in other’s view) ever existed.
It is a tragic novel as far as I could comment. It lingers on the poignant nostalgia that eventually ends up competing with oblivion. O! – If oblivion is the medication for poignant nostalgia, then I say, it isn’t a medicine but a pill that will indulge your sense to a brief euphoria of fictions. But then, denying a fact could never change a fact.
Sometimes, books make me believe that truth is beyond what eyes can see and that you have to close your eyes because, there lies, in the blinding darkness, the sincerest truth. Believe me, I have read books from thrillers to tragedies, from fictions to inspiring novels, from Dan Brown to Nicholas Sparks, from Paulo Coelho to Og Mandino, but nothing is more real than those stories we make for ourselves – our life.
They thought me that sincerity, love, and kindness can be so true. But contradictions spell it the other way in such a manner that it could only be too good to be true.
They thought me of life’s purpose. And so it made me think that maybe, God ran out of purposes to give the hour I was born. So He came up with my fate that is so unique, that it would not touch other people’s lives but letting them touch mine, thus, I’m giving them their purpose in life – isn’t that a marvelous idea? That God made up something out of nothing? That at the end of conclusion where nothing is beyond, God made an extension? And that extension is me. If I were not born, then people will have no one to share their purposes in life with. Whom they will share it anyway when they are all too arrogant of what they have and of their purposes? So I’m here to give them their purpose – though dependency is a poison beneath one’s soul. It is like that “Games of the General” where the most powerful ones (the spies) could only be killed by the lowest in the ranks – the privates.
They thought me that a man will always be a man and his desires are his own enemies. I would definitely salute Nicholas Sparks with his novel “A Walk To Remember”; I love it so well that I have read it a dozen times already. But what good is a Landon Carter in a fiction? Truly, a born John Tucker will always be a John Tucker. The “Tree” by F. Sionil Jose’ – a Filipino writer made it clear to see.
Bitter of reality. But is there any other reality aside from reality itself?
Tangled with all those yonder dreams long been forgotten like those childhood memories long been gone beyond the grave. But in the great universe, patches of nebula everywhere would dazzle in our sights and with a sigh of unknown poignant euphoria, we are again surrounded by the darkness of the universe. But, is the universe really dark? I doubt it now, thinking of those billions of stars greater that the “sol invictus”, I bet, it is brighter than the May days. But does it matter? Universe conspired within the clips of everyone’s lives and those ironies will soon appear only as shadows of eternity. Eternity. Where will I go from here?
It is a tragic novel as far as I could comment. It lingers on the poignant nostalgia that eventually ends up competing with oblivion. O! – If oblivion is the medication for poignant nostalgia, then I say, it isn’t a medicine but a pill that will indulge your sense to a brief euphoria of fictions. But then, denying a fact could never change a fact.
Sometimes, books make me believe that truth is beyond what eyes can see and that you have to close your eyes because, there lies, in the blinding darkness, the sincerest truth. Believe me, I have read books from thrillers to tragedies, from fictions to inspiring novels, from Dan Brown to Nicholas Sparks, from Paulo Coelho to Og Mandino, but nothing is more real than those stories we make for ourselves – our life.
They thought me that sincerity, love, and kindness can be so true. But contradictions spell it the other way in such a manner that it could only be too good to be true.
They thought me of life’s purpose. And so it made me think that maybe, God ran out of purposes to give the hour I was born. So He came up with my fate that is so unique, that it would not touch other people’s lives but letting them touch mine, thus, I’m giving them their purpose in life – isn’t that a marvelous idea? That God made up something out of nothing? That at the end of conclusion where nothing is beyond, God made an extension? And that extension is me. If I were not born, then people will have no one to share their purposes in life with. Whom they will share it anyway when they are all too arrogant of what they have and of their purposes? So I’m here to give them their purpose – though dependency is a poison beneath one’s soul. It is like that “Games of the General” where the most powerful ones (the spies) could only be killed by the lowest in the ranks – the privates.
They thought me that a man will always be a man and his desires are his own enemies. I would definitely salute Nicholas Sparks with his novel “A Walk To Remember”; I love it so well that I have read it a dozen times already. But what good is a Landon Carter in a fiction? Truly, a born John Tucker will always be a John Tucker. The “Tree” by F. Sionil Jose’ – a Filipino writer made it clear to see.
Bitter of reality. But is there any other reality aside from reality itself?
Tangled with all those yonder dreams long been forgotten like those childhood memories long been gone beyond the grave. But in the great universe, patches of nebula everywhere would dazzle in our sights and with a sigh of unknown poignant euphoria, we are again surrounded by the darkness of the universe. But, is the universe really dark? I doubt it now, thinking of those billions of stars greater that the “sol invictus”, I bet, it is brighter than the May days. But does it matter? Universe conspired within the clips of everyone’s lives and those ironies will soon appear only as shadows of eternity. Eternity. Where will I go from here?