Apparently...
Apparently I was suppose to write something of a retrospective concerning life and what it is to me, and how that no matter how many tomatos or tomatoes life throws at you, it's all about acceptance and letting go. Immersing yourself in what life has to offer and slowly detaching yourself from those experiences, because they have come and gone.
Well, I seem to have lost that mood now. We'll try another day I suppose.
Personally, I'm not the type that harp on these kinds of philosophical wisdom for long. Really.
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"The last class of my old professor's life took place once a week, in his home, by a window in his study where he could watch a small hibiscus plant shed its pink flowers. The class met on Tuesdays. No books were required. The subject was the meaning of life. It was taught from experience."
It was a wonder why I saw this book jutting out amongst the rest of my spy/thriller novel collection on my bookshelf and all I read was that very first paragraph. After that, I placed the book back into it's slot, still slightly jutting out, as if it was poking its head (if it had a head) through the door. Asking me whether it could be read.
I still remember running down the steps to the living room, on the TV it was one of those movie reruns from the 90s.
Funny how it took me roughly half a year, to pick it up again, read it, and finish it on - you guessed it - a Tuesday.
But I'd read it again. No matter what day it is.
Cheers~
