Reading.
I recently told a friend that I used to read a lot when I was a kid. One of my brother's friends, who I bumped into occasionally in the library, would be intimidated by the amount of books I took out each week. At four or five in the morning, my mom would knock on my door and yell, "Cindy, time to go to bed!" Reflecting back to those days, I would have to say that yes, I do enjoy reading.
Lately, I have succumbed to the pleasure of reading once again. I would delve into that novel and search for its many meanings. The brilliance of how certain words and phrases would concoct a series of vivid images in the mind, followed by tuggings of emotions in the heart, is truly amazing; the power of imagery is both scary and wonderful because of this.
Another friend recently said something to this effect, "I believe literature is not just useful as a story but mostly as a way of discovering things about one's existence through the reading experience. So studying what those things are, and how we engage with the text is kind of like studying the meaning of life."
It's funny because I then asked, "What is the meaning of life?" He did not have a ready response. However, the statement of "discovering things about one's existence through the reading experience" is neat because the discoveries allow us to be that much more aware of our current place in life. These little discoveries (or what we may often refer to as "epiphanies") are delightful. Yet at times, the responsibilities attached to the awareness and alertness of that "one's existence," might seem a little heavy. Ah...knowledge and what we choose to do with it.
Again, I do enjoy reading. It allows me to go into a world of words and "engage with the text." This friend also said that a novel can conjure up some of the most powerful emotions and thoughts in a condensed period of time, that is, our reading experience; within this reading time, we are able to experience some of the most important things in life. I think that is very true. Perhaps, that is the reason to why I enjoy reading.
Lately, I have succumbed to the pleasure of reading once again. I would delve into that novel and search for its many meanings. The brilliance of how certain words and phrases would concoct a series of vivid images in the mind, followed by tuggings of emotions in the heart, is truly amazing; the power of imagery is both scary and wonderful because of this.
Another friend recently said something to this effect, "I believe literature is not just useful as a story but mostly as a way of discovering things about one's existence through the reading experience. So studying what those things are, and how we engage with the text is kind of like studying the meaning of life."
It's funny because I then asked, "What is the meaning of life?" He did not have a ready response. However, the statement of "discovering things about one's existence through the reading experience" is neat because the discoveries allow us to be that much more aware of our current place in life. These little discoveries (or what we may often refer to as "epiphanies") are delightful. Yet at times, the responsibilities attached to the awareness and alertness of that "one's existence," might seem a little heavy. Ah...knowledge and what we choose to do with it.
Again, I do enjoy reading. It allows me to go into a world of words and "engage with the text." This friend also said that a novel can conjure up some of the most powerful emotions and thoughts in a condensed period of time, that is, our reading experience; within this reading time, we are able to experience some of the most important things in life. I think that is very true. Perhaps, that is the reason to why I enjoy reading.
Labels: Personal
posted by Cindy at
3:23 AM
3 Comments
