Reading in the stationary car ▬ my eyes are here but I think I am partly distracted. It could be because I am sleepy and I think with the day my energy is setting. Daylight seemingly has become whiter or is it golden warped with the blues, blacks and whites of the day that will soon go to bed?
I am waiting for Mom who is doing her important stuff. I just write ‘stuff’ but that sounds too casual and seemingly boring but in actuality it’s my mood. It’s setting down a bit because my back has started to hurt. But I am also interested in the book I am reading. But I know I am tired. My attention span is too excited and wants to rush through things ▬ but at the same time I am also thinking that the details are very interesting.
Then I realized internally why I think Stephenie Meyer has potential but does not always deliver ▬ her books lack this depth that it somewhat at times begins with. It becomes interesting at times and you may be curious to know more but then you get irritated with the characters as they have odd 360° shifty behaviours. But with the characters I was reading there was depth and different angles. There was more context through which they were fleshed. The opening was quite capturing as well.
The book is A Widow For One Year by John Irving.
I personally think Irving is a very good author and one of those writers we can understand being a best-seller but also with a lot of intellectual appeal and literary content. There is also a lot of effort and pragmatism in his characters though they are flawed ▬ you don’t have to ‘love’ them as they are not ‘perfect’ or maybe even likeable ▬ our writer does critique his own characters and realizes their flaws and passions. The narrative is in the third person so obviously the writer is intimately able to interact with these characters without the one-on-one involvement. It also allows the writer to be adequately an entertainer with those little thoughts that come up during the development of the character. I think as I partly read another of Irving’s books ▬ the book that sent him soaring to international success ▬ I know that he establishes his characters quite well and proceeds with them accordingly ▬ as I saw in the book that made him well-known, The World According To Garp.
This book follows the same pattern as in stylistically he starts off into something that is important to the characters but at the same time does not reveal everything. You can actually ponder a lot on his characters but not in the way you may contemplate characters written by Meyer ▬ as in having so much potential going to waste or what can be most readily improved ▬ I was actually picturing the scenarios that the writer had wrote and read some parts again to imagine them once more. The book is not fast-paced but that is the beauty of it. Its actions are not limited but rather straight-out there ▬ building into something.
Whilst reading I was interrupted by my interruptive mind ▬ the pavement next to me was only being tread upon after long intervals; and beside it was a wall with the opposite side being a large field where people can play their preferred outdoor sports. The long semi-narrow road was not situated near a mainroad meaning less noise and more passing flings of sounds that do not baffle or disturb you. They might actually arouse your interests. And they did for me.
The air was filled with a different language. Not my mother-tongue of Bangla or English. The pavement, a bit sordid but like more of a haphazard trail in the woods but messy, with its grassy sides on the corner, was being walked on by mostly foreigners. I wondered if they were here to visit the shopping complexes nearby or the amusement part on the opposite side right before the field started. I looked at them and realized to them this was an adventure. The things that bothers us usually would not bother them. Even the conditions of the pavement was a fun-filled excursion. I realized I envied their freshness of travel though I, myself, was amazed by the nativity of my own space. It is my soil but in a place I seldom travel.
Maybe, I shared the adventure with them.
As I read I was again distracted by an insect ▬ no, the long tendrils that looked limb-like was not that of an insect ▬ though I was partly awakened, more energized, by that long tendril. The ‘insect’ was light. Light has this beautiful capacity to act like animate creatures. I do not know if the light was caused by a passing vehicle or the movement of the trees but by Allah Almighty it was truly beautiful. It whipped around like hair or like flickering fingers. I was amazed by it truly and now I wonder how Allah Almighty created such fine dynamics.
The dimming of light and the lowering of my reading day-lamp made me look out at the pavement on my left again. Now I noticed that the long metal fence which was shaped more like binary lines with spaces in between had an overgrowth of vine growing on it. It came out like a wave. I took a picture of it ▬ it looked enigmatic under the approach of dusk and I had to adjust my cellphone’s camera to take a picture of it. However, the picture came out dark and I was too lazy to lower my glass and take a proper picture.
Under the dimming light (without flash and with) I took some pictures of my book’s page.
I had called Mom before and she was not quite done yet.
Finally dusk really came and I had switch on the overhead light to keep reading my book.
After a while Mom called.
It was time to leave this street. Thanks to Allah Almighty it was a nice place to have those echoes of contemplation
▬ even if one is shutting down like dusk…
There’s something about them that I like — these external attachments to our face. A successor of sorts to ‘name calling’ [though nowadays calling someone ‘four eyes’ is as antiquated as gliding someone off with breeches considering that most people nowadays may take them up one time or another due to excessive exposure to a monitor] and/or ‘fashion icons’ and a predecessor to the fact that you may need to relax your organs a bit more.
I do not know why I like spectacles so much — unlike the few who was fitted with them since infancy I had come to know them only when I became fourteen or fifteen — a revelation unwelcomed then. When our family friend, who is also an eye specialist, told me to read the letters on his chart I knew I was doomed. The blurry figures were as apparent to me as their solid-transparency. They were there as ghosts of what my eyes used to previously focus on in some faraway facet in my lifetime. The light that was reflecting on my line of vision was still not enabling me to get these ghosts back into focus.
Something strange happened to me amidst these ongoing trials — my eyes were becoming watery. The doctor realized that I needed a fit of those ‘glass-circles’ that made seeing more adaptable. After a ‘turning here’ and a ‘turning there’ with some of those pieces my eyes were back on track.
Yet at this time something embarassing happened — I began to cry. To my juvenile understanding “glasses” were not worn by ‘me’ and to the teenage-sphere they would stand out and inspire ‘ridicule’ — at least that is what I thought.
The doctor was surprisingly quite calm. I had expected him to be alarmed (or truthfully appalled) at my behaviour but I think he really didn’t care for such trivialities because his job was to write down what adjustments I needed to wear. In other words, he was not being judgemental. There was a natural frankness about him though as we were family friends and I don’t recollect well but maybe he was saying things like ‘not to worry’ to me. My Mom also seemed a bit surprised as I am not really a ‘cryer’ or ‘weeper’ but then she just called my Dad to let him know that I would be needing glasses.
While talking to Dad I was crying and my father felt unhappy [though upon reflecting I guess it was more of a comical misunderstanding albeit a very embarrassing one] so he asked his friend if I could get contacts instead. The doctor said that contacts for my eyes were currently unavailable — I do not know about the US or UK but I am talking about almost ten years ago so at that time adolescents my age could not get contact lenses — so, I finally simmered down. The doctor stated that maybe if I wore them regularly I might not need them anymore [I think my memory is faulty here and that he didn’t state that but one thing is for sure — I still need glasses because though I wore them well for a time I became very erratic later on in wearing them due to forgetfulness and excessive amounts of computer work did not help the condition].
I finally decided to take it as it is. I was ready. I was going to wear glasses now.
In the optics store I chose my first pair of glasses, which I still have by the way. It was a golden frame — one of those vintage spectacles of the past. They were, as I recall, thinly rimmed and looked more like a schoolteacher’s apparel. But I liked them. They, I think, almost looked rimless. Well, I got what I wanted and was prepared to start the journey.
When I went to school wearing those glasses for the first time the first interaction I had with one of the boys in my class was outside class and went something along the lines like this:
‘Hey, you are wearing glasses.’
‘Yeah, they look kinda weird on me don’t they?’
But he was not really critical at all. I guess because he wore glasses too[if my memory serves me right]. And the rest of the class didn’t really care. I guess I went to school with the era that just started realizing that massive videogame consumption and television addictions were going to lead to glasses anyway.
Oh, at that time the utilization of computers were still kept to a limit. There were no international frenzy for blogs, emails, typed assignments, twitter accounts and the friendly App in your cellphone that blinks every time that you get email. I was still playing Tomb Raider: Chronicles then too. In fact in computer class we were still learning the equations that help operate “Qbasic” as though there were “Visual editors” around let’s say that this digital rush was still not so visible in my country or my city. In other ways the internet was not really used that much as a learning kit in those days. I use to prefer browsing sites of my favourite animes and pass the time chatting in Yahoo messenger with some close friends.
Well, spectacles change too. I no longer wear those golden frames. In fact when I turned sixteen I took to a more vintage black, thick-rimmed style or silver metallic rimless while cramming for O’Levels. I still remember hot summer afternoons me typing away with those black frames in my computer and thinking of the Order of the Phoenix release of Harry Potter that time of the year [ironically, I wore glasses like Potter too now only his are circular and mine are still either oval, square and rectangle — we still differ in geometric alignment].
At this period, the attitude altered as one can see and my Dad reminded me jovially that the person who was initially reluctant to wear glasses now decided to spend every waking moment with glasses. I liked them now. They were a friendly species. Like mutualistic bacteria they needed you and they caused no severe side-effects I can think off. I think I also liked my thick, black-rimmed frames because they resembled the ones Jassi wore of Jassi Jaisa Koi Nahin (There is no one like Jassi), the Indian predecessor to Ugly Betty.
However, the hiatus to glasses came in properly in University and it was not to act all ‘cool’ because glasses are already cool now and ‘in’ were many of the frames. It was because of normal human error capacity. I forgot to wear them. In the rush of getting my things prepped for classes I unconsciously forgot them because Thanks To Allah Almighty my eyes were not that bad that needed glasses to see and analyse every minor detail.
Well, I had to start again this year. With the truckload of University work and countless hours spent in front of the computer for both compulsory and recretional uses my tired eyes lead to contant headaches and a visit again to my doctor who was our family friend. Now, of course there was no prolonged hiatus in meeting with him. The usual visits had been there though my University years had them lacking. Well, he said something along the lines ‘you got to go back to glasses again’.
My eyes did not get watery. Nor did I ask for contact lenses. I no longer needed those bad training wheels of ‘I need to always care what people thought about me’ — the truth was I started loving glasses as they went with who I was and Thank Allah Almighty that the revelation came soon for it would be quite idiotic to stay in a concerted limbo that made no sense.
Well, a new era meant — a new decision on spectacles. At least to me.
I realized I love the thick-rimmed species of the whole genus/kingdom as I think I am more suited to the ‘nerdy’ look — well my interests have become more specialized or varied to some extents. I still love the classic black, thick-rimmed specs but I do not mind seeing other colours and thinner-rimmed cousins to my vintage acquaintance. Yet I guess my face does not do ‘Harry Potter’ so the geometric partners of ovals, squares and rectangles did not really change.
So glasses are brilliant with their vintage and retro appeal. I love wearing them and Thanks To Allah Almighty I do have more than one pair as I am a bit eclectic in taste.
It is truly beautiful how Allah Almighty had them engineered. Made for purposes clinical in nature but now offers subcultures of other specimens as well.
I love spectacles. The only thing they cannot do [makes us appreciate the eyes we were born with as Allah Almighty gave them to us] is that they fog up and must be manually cleaned as they do not come with the essential feature of our eyes — that viscous layer where our coloured little ball dances is equipped by Allah Almighty to cleanse dust and dirt with an additional equipment of lashes and coverings that allow us to blink and close and burst open to vision.
But they sit snugly on your nose [a good pair] and attach nicely to the top of your ears.
They might make you value the beauty that is your eyes and vision.
Update[some minutes later]: P.S Those green glasses in this post are so pretty INSHALLAH I wish I can get them one of these days ^_^
Actually by writing this I’m probably doing it a favour. As a friend said that any publicity is “good” publicity [not in those words but you guys get the picture]
But I think Twilight will survive as garbage, the un-recyclable kind or the trash that is somehow, unfortunately got into by cliche Mills and Boon crap
Actually Meyer may be quite smart to know id she writes trash she gets people anger at her enough to voice an opinion or she may be as untalented as she appears.
Why did I write this post?
Just wanted to.
Better go write other things ^_^
The wall is a nesting ground
for all innovations of violence
yet it is a comforting puzzle
for the Rubik cube that is adversity
blessed is the one who knows violence
blessed is the one who knows intolerance
yet shapes not pieces as such
keeps much to oneself
the part was wielded by thorns
cut on an Angel’s feet
yet the Angel did not draw blood
as a means to offer serenity
as a means of aftermath
the strewn wires in the bones
the strewn canopies from ash
a blistered organ that travels
is the language receiving antagonism
maps are but guiding carriages
navigation is primary
secondary is the adaptation
that coils into a coccoon to have the heart travel
like lovers that are star crossed
and fresh and salt divided
is the clinically pathological and the fogs of insanity
birds can wrap clouds
and spiders fishing nets of air
the obstacle is oneself
who cannot prepare…
The thorns and Angel is Inspired by Prophet Muhammed (P.B.U.H.) who had an old lady throw thorns as such on his path when he walked. One day the thorns weren’t there so he wondered why not coming to know the lady was ill. He decided to go visit her and the old lady was so surprised at him coming to see her with concern for her health that she converted to Islam.
Like air in your arteries
plasma in your vertebrae
we are setting course
we are halflings of curses and blessings
via a large macro-microscope
those thoughts that arches in your patronage
building up and exploding
or remarkably smitten to the ethersphere
hot-warm-icing on a cerebral banquet
flirting are meteoric dust
coquettish are novas in their folds
and so volatile in coldness
that pulsar is shaking
throbbing with a thought-balloon
vibrating in leaping crowds
waiting to be heard
the space is cut by wings
your hierarchy’s a tablet on some inner surface
cauldron of memories
can they cope?
I’m sailing high
past storms and tranquillity
is the chaos me or harmony?
am I a mosaic of many dots
like some constellation of emotions and logic