As you are, there are things for which no words would do justice, no explanation would suffice. For they just are.
Like lines that conceal meaning and words that rhyme, you blow my mind away.
And I let you.
Hold her gently, like the rare and precious book she is. Don’t let her cover mislead you; it may look plain but don’t lose sight of the tapestry it hides. Take your time getting past her cover, the initial extra leaves, and when you finally set your eyes on the first words of her first chapter, take some more time to appreciate what that means. There aren’t a lot of people whom she has allowed this far. Not that there are a lot of people who would take the time to read past her cover anyway.
As her plot unravels note how different she is from all the other stories you’ve known. Hellos and goodbyes are scattered everywhere. Feel her die a little bit with every farewell. Have more faith in her happy ending with every smile.
Feel the weight of the story she lays down before you. Take in every word but concede to the fact that you may never even finish half. Know her universe and reach out. Know her fears, her dreams, her hopes, the things that make her go. Don’t laugh at them no matter how petty they may seem to be. You would not want to anger a universe.
Pay attention to her details: the passers-by who would later deliver the plot twists, the unnoticed allies who would be crucial to the denouement. Delight that her chapters are long, her words abstruse. It is not so because she wants to intimidate but because she has her complexities and this is what describes her best. Know that this complexity demands your full attention. Do not read her casually.
Let her blow your mind away through the thick of her drama, the thrill of her adventures, even in the lull of ennui. Immerse yourself in her metaphors and her contradictions. Allow her the awkward transitory scenes, the occasional plot holes. Remember that this is not a fairy tale. Understand that this is her story, just as fucked up as yours or anyone else’s.
Like all good books do, her story will tire you. You’d need your time to put her down and regroup yourself. Take this time to decide, very carefully, if there is anywhere you can help her with in writing her story. Ask for her permission and, as you ask, remember to respect her space. Do not forget that she has already given you so much by letting you read her. That your words mingle with hers is an entirely different matter.
You wouldn’t know how she’d react until it comes. She may laugh. She may cry. Heck, she may even put up a pretense of indifference. This is where you find out how tired she is of her complexities, just like everyone else. Maybe, she does not want to be a universe, just a star in someone’s sky. You should know how tired she feels. You’ve read her haven’t you?
Remind her that plain happy characters do not make a good story. Remind her of those parts of her story you found most beautiful. Remind her of her strength. Tell her that her story is just warming up, that the plot is still about to thicken, and that the climax is still way ahead. She may not know how to continue, how to handle the thickening plot or navigate the climax way ahead but that is why you’re here. You are offering her your words for those times ahead where she may find herself speechless.
She may refuse you, in which case say thank you, leave quietly, and make sure that you keep her secrets well. To do so otherwise would be unfair, childish even.
And yes, she may accept your company, in which case look at her straight in the eyes, say thank you, and assure her that you will keep her secrets well. Complicated as she is, you do not know how far into her story will you get to help write. You are probably not the first she has allowed in this role, nor will you be the last. This is an enormous responsibility but, whatever happens, do your best to make your part the episodes she’d love to relive with fondness.
Why am I a photoblog all of a sudden? Read about it here.
And for my first “Photograph of the Month” blog I give you roses.
They’re my mom’s. I think she acquired them around mid-month. Of course, my first instinct was to jump in and take pictures. Yay.
I know that roses—like books, butterflies, and hearts—are fragile things but I never knew that they are that delicate that it is quite a task keeping them alive. I don’t know much about gardening but my mom said something along the lines of, “I hope I can make them last”. That just gave me an idea on how fragile they can be.
Why are fragile things often beautiful? Or is it the other way around, that those which are beautiful are fragile? Roses, books, butterflies, hearts—or why I’m so sure the world is beautiful.
For next month, I guess I’ll find something moving, throw in a person or two in the frame maybe. If you head over to my DeviantArt you’ll see lot’s of flower pics in there. I find flowers that beautiful that I can’t stop myself from taking pictures when I see some interesting ones—which scares me a bit. I guess it’s every artist’s fear that he has ran out of new ideas to try, that his recurring themes are no more than reused cliche. Where do you draw the line between recurring themes and loss of fresh ideas?
But hey this post is supposed to be happy. In other news, I’m no longer doing my thesis/special problem alone. I’m with two ladies and we’re working on Porites a genus of corals. More about the problem as we progress. Yee-ha.
(According to Sir Pros, our adviser, thesis is, by definition, something you do alone. But for all intents and purposes, our special problem, usually done in pairs or in threes even in other labs, can be considered a thesis.)
‘Till next month! ~The Chad Estioco