I think I learned what love is yesterday.
I’ve read a peculiar set of books this year up till now. A range from You Are a Badass at Making Money (cliché commercial self-help book with a very green eye-catching cover; honestly, I picked it up from a store and paid the full price for it - what we in Chinese refer to as “tax for low IQ”, meaning you pay for something completely unworthy because you are stupid enough to fall for it - because I saw it on some list of recommended finance books; you can only imagine how I felt while reading it, especially having to painfully go through the language its author opted to use) to Shooting an Elephant (well, written by George Orwell, who like many distinguished writers in different times, gained his sophistication and ability to look at issues dialectically from copious amount of traveling and seeing how other people live and speak). From The Geography of Thought (lots of it is common sense to me but a person should really have some idea of what’s covered in this book to claim to be an expert in the other culture; cultural difference is beyond what translated language can convey, and language is the product and representation of how a cultural group thinks) to Becoming (a surprisingly touching read - there is something very compelling and relatable in the stories Michelle tells and she makes you believe a little bit more that changes towards the better are possible in this world). From The Fire Next Time (I need to understand the American history more to be able to fully comprehend this book; it’s a direct and honest account of the race problems in America and offers solutions that might still be relevant today) to A Heart So White (written in a stream of consciousness style that I happen to be able to follow well; the main plot revolves around marriage and relationship but it travels through time and invites readers to contemplate on right and wrong and the fine line in between and the intertwining of our imagination and reality). And some more. Then a few days ago I started reading Reckless Daughter by David Yaffe, a portrait of Joni Mitchell. I’m still in the first few chapters and so far I enjoy it a lot. She is one of the most talented and poetic folk musicians, and she actually started out as a painter. She said, I sing my sorrow and paint my joy. Believe it or not, I can relate to that. In the middle of the book, there are some photos from different times of her life with the presence of different people. She has had many lovers. One pictures was a close shot of Joni and Graham Nash, only their faces are showing but they appear to be very intimate. I haven’t reached this part yet, so I don’t know what exactly happened. I just finished the part with Leonard Cohen. In the caption of this photo it writes: “I loved the man, so I can’t say anything bad about him.” Love is not being able to say anything bad about that person.
1 Comment
7/10/2022 20:52:36
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