There is a beauty in second time around.
By this- I meant, reading.
The first read- is inevitable. There’s a book, and what’s the best thing to do with it?
Read. You fall in love with the story. You can’t take that silly grin off your face,and you promise yourself to read it again.
But something always comes up. (ALWAYS)
A meet-up with a friend?
A new book?
Deadlines at work?
And the book is left there- waiting patiently for you to open it again.
The second read is a decision.
A hard one.
You say, what’s the point of reading the same story again? Perhaps, you ask yourself this question. Don’t worry, I experience it too. Might as well, buy myself another book to read- there are still lots to discover.
Well, here’s the thing.
Re-reading also leads to new discoveries.
It’s like- re-entering inside your old-room, after being gone for a long time. Everything is familiar. Your bed is still there- same comforter, blanket, and pillows. Your books-disheveled, but are still intact. Your mahogany bedside table with your beige lamp on top, and your book of the week- surprisingly are still present, just how you left it- say, 5 years ago?
But then, you notice the purple pin stuck in between books- and you can vividly remember you were looking for it for quite a long time.
And there, underneath your bed, just beside the foot, you find the other pair of your teardrop earring- a gift from a friend or from an old flame, I am not sure- it must have fallen years back when you were so tired to clean up after a party- you just fell down in your bed, and dozed off. The next morning, you woke up, looking for it, and finally surrendered thinking it fell somewhere on your way home.
And-then your diary or scrapbook you thought was lost forever- is neatly lying under the pile of clothes inside your cabinet. You open it again- and a strong current of emotions envelope your whole body.
“Discovering” is not just about finding something new or something non-existent from the past.
Discovering is also finding something that is already there, something you knew already exist but you didn’t give a damn attention.
Maybe, in the past you didn’t notice it, or it was not something that you needed at that moment.
Its absence you don’t know matter then, however when it is finally gone- you get that sense of being incomplete- as if an organ is being ripped out from your body (regardless of how small it is) or a dream- a beautiful one, you can’t remember.
That is what it feels like reading the book the second time around.
This is what I feel after reading Sputnik Sweetheart the second time around.