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Something for September

Tales are for everyone!

There are moments when I feel that I’ve lost so many friends since my reading took a backseat. That or I’ve been practically away from social media. Limiting social media presence made me feel more liberated. I got rid of the need to take pictures or to compose pieces for the purpose of posting them on whatever, or all, outlets available online. But that took a backlash. People don’t know that I’m still around because hey, they don’t hear from me and thus, I get this feeling of displacement and irrelevance.

I think that most people have embraced social media with so much warmth and have seamlessly integrated them into their lives, whereas I feel that I will never be able to totally adjust to them. Of course I have to, but I don’t know how. I no longer feel the need to share and I don’t need to know every piece of food you eat, every place you visit, every dress you wear to the office, every thought that you have on every pressing matter. It’s your life, sure. You don’t have to limit your social media activities for my sake and for others like me, and that’s why I just stay away instead of enduring them. This makes me feel like a worthless friend, but I want to hear from people not from these avenues.

And so I long for conversations. Human, face to face conversations. And this I also have spectacularly failed at because I have nothing to say. I haven’t read much. I haven’t listened to new music or seen films I’ve hoarded or kept abreast with pop culture news or with what’s going on in your lives, all acceptable fodder for conversations. I’m afraid I’m becoming less and less interesting and less fun to be with. I can always go deeper (i.e. get more personal) but I don’t want to talk about my thoughts or my feelings (except for now, I suppose) because I don’t want to burden my listener with my thoughts or my feelings. Which you already are doing now. I don’t understand this.

Anyway, I just miss reading. It really is true that books are great friends. This gaping hole in my life, I need to fill it with words from paper but my mind is a worn out sponge that resists absorption. But when it does manage to hold some water, I’m awestruck and despondent at the same time. How could I afford to miss the joy of reading? I’m happy to say that every piece that I’m (still) reading from Robert Walser’s A Schoolboy’s Diary is a treasure. And that I’m looking forward to my book discussion next year at the book club. I’m still deciding on a theme. A book set during the summer? Ferrante or Knausgaard? Or just the ten best books that NYT selected last year (The Sellout, Outline, The Door, A Manual for Cleaning Women, etc.) because I’ve been interested in these titles when they first came out. Or maybe I’ll wait for their picks this year.

I’ve just typed this on Notepad and had no intention of posting it on the blog but since I managed to update this blog with an astounding zero posts for the month, I’ll let this serve as my monthly update. I know I will be back, and I hope it will be soon. I don’t want to be a zombie. It’s one of the worst things I could do to myself.

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“How odd I can have all this inside me and to you it's just words.”

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