This made me weep and jump with joy; joy of coming across such beautiful words, almost like finding a lottery.
This article made me feel grateful that I can read.Date a girl who doesn’t read. Find her in the weary squalor of a Midwestern bar. Find her in the smoke, drunken sweat, and varicolored light of an upscale nightclub. Wherever you find her, find her smiling. Make sure that it lingers when the people that are talking to her look away. Engage her with unsentimental trivialities. Use pick-up lines and laugh inwardly. Take her outside when the night overstays its welcome. Ignore the palpable weight of fatigue. Kiss her in the rain under the weak glow of a streetlamp because you’ve seen it in film. Remark at its lack of significance. Take her to your apartment. Dispatch with making love. Fuck her.[...]
[...]Don’t date a girl who reads because girls who read are the storytellers. You with the Joyce, you with the Nabokov, you with the Woolf. You there in the library, on the platform of the metro, you in the corner of the café, you in the window of your room. You, who make my life so god damned difficult. The girl who reads has spun out the account of her life and it is bursting with meaning. She insists that her narratives are rich, her supporting cast colorful, and her typeface bold. You, the girl who reads, make me want to be everything that I am not. But I am weak and I will fail you, because you have dreamed, properly, of someone who is better than I am. You will not accept the life that I told of at the beginning of this piece. You will accept nothing less than passion, and perfection, and a life worthy of being storied. So out with you, girl who reads. Take the next southbound train and take your Hemingway with you. I hate you. I really, really, really hate you.
*****
I realise, there is a certain beauty in failing. Of not going through life being happy always. There is a certain meaning to living a life that's mired in sadness, misery, failure and loneliness. I realise, maybe, it's good that I am still struggling to find my calling in life, that I didn't meet my soulmate at a college fete 10 years ago, that I found and lost, that I tried and failed. There is a certain beauty in struggle too. And when all this is over, maybe I can say I lived a life worth talking about.
2 comments:
There is beauty in struggle indeed. And someday you'll look back and say something along the lines of this [which I once wrote on my blog]
As you lay beside me, I am happy
for all the tears I had to shed,
for all the pain I had to bear,
for all the pieces my heart broke into,
for all the abyss of despair I slipped into,
for all the moments I felt lonelier than everyone,
for all the moments I had no faith in anyone,
for all the fear cos of dubious circumstances,
for all the memories of sad and stolen glances.
All of that strengthens my conviction
of how this moment is so precious,
and how its worth all the strife and action.
You're the reason why I'm now so courageous.
Keep the faith! If you settle for nothing but the best, most of the time you get it :)
@Dagny, thanks a lot Sudnya :)Those words mean a lot :)
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