Momowords

The first time you read a book
Is not something you can experience twice.
Abstract ideas take a concrete look
As words are scribbled down, all becomes concise.
The end of a story must not be mourned;
Its very beginning is a celebration!
The excitement should be remembered;
Rush of anticipation,
As your eyes travel across the text,
Drawing up endless alternatives.
What will happen next?
Is that not what life symbolises?
We must celebrate our unawareness of the future
Ignorant of what the next chapter will carry.
Re-reading your favourite book is similar
To looking at an old photograph from your history;
A book is a life – constant thrall.
Books shall always be man’s dearest friend,
For are we not all
Stories in the end?

Books have always been an important part of my life. I learnt how to read before going to school, and even then I was an avid reader. The pile of books in my room grew rapidly, but I kept them tidy and well organised so that I could find the one I wanted easily. Perhaps that is why I am constantly rearranging things around the house to be in a more orderly fashion.

Books really have always been a way to escape reality. I can simply open a book and all of my worries will float away for a while. And even as I close the book, the story shadows my thoughts and dreams, easing my way through life. It’s rather strange how these little black swirls and dots on a page can change one’s life. When authors write a book, they are giving their opinion on a subject. And when you read a lot of books, you discover all these different points of view; giving me a new perspective on things and helping me forge my own outlook on life today.

A couple of years ago, I met Nicky Singer, author of Feather Boy, with whom I exchanged ideas in a writing workshop. Actually talking with the person who wrote this book was an amazing experience and reinforced my wish to continue writing.

I create many alternative universes which is probably what motivated me to start a website, where I publish some of my writings. I have met people around me who like the same books as I do, and have made interesting friends who recommend even more books.

When you read many books, you do not simply have a better literary culture, but you also learn many random facts. For instance thanks to the Hunger Games (Collins), I know now that mockingbirds mimic the sounds of other birds and insects. Percy Jackson (Riordan) taught me about Greek and Roman mythology, Dracula (Stoker) confirmed my suspicions that vampires do not glitter in the sunlight, as they do according to Twilight (Meyer), and Divergent (Roth) reminded me of five important words that define us as human beings (amity, abnegation, dauntless, erudite and candor). The Book Thief (Zusak) showed me that there are two sides to everything, the Perks of Being a Wallflower (Chbosky) gave me hope, Looking for Alaska (Green) told me that some things are best left unknown and the Count of Monte Cristo (Dumas) made me understand that life is not a fairy tale.

All of these characters have such different lives, such different personalities. When I am in a difficult position, I ask myself what my favourite character would do in this particular situation. When I meet someone, I subconsciously compare them to a character from a story. Now whether or not that is a good thing, I couldn’t tell you, but it certainly is a part of who I am.

I have always relied on books to help me on this thrilling journey we call life. All of these stories have such a great influence on me and the decisions I make. Books truly define who I am today.

“In a time that was yesterday and eternally present, there lived a prince who had been silent for as long as anyone could remember. His mother the Queen was heartbroken at her son’s muteness and the King heartbroken at his wife’s grief. So it was that on the Prince’s eighteenth birthday, they issued a proclamation saying that any man or woman who could make the Prince speak would receive the richest reward in the kingdom. However, the penalty for those who failed would be instant death.

Many brave men and women tried to make the young Prince speak. And as many were beheaded. The King and Queen had all but given up their quest when, from the woods nearby, came one last adventurer…”-Nicky Singer, Feather Boy

 

I decided that I would carry on this fairy tale because I thought it was pretty good:

 

It was a small and graceful person in a cape. This stranger approached the castle bounds and searched for an entrance. It met a knight and asked him where to find King Joseph and his wife Queen Mary. The knight showed the stranger the way and continued. So the caped person walked to the castle gates and knocked. A guard asked their identity, and then let them in.

They went through a parting corridor which led to the King and Queen’s court. It was a big, marble room that stood on one-hundred columns.

The strange visitor looked around curiously, particularly intrigued with a bronze statue which seemed to be motioning towards some high chairs. So the stranger looked up and saw their Majesties sitting on their thrones.

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