It has been crazy and magical at the same time. This almost one year of being unemployed (and still continuing :D). I have read so much, which I otherwise would not have. Work sort of stopped everything. It had become everything and after a point I did not know what I was up to. It was all about meetings and conference calls and emails and working from home even on a weekend, till I put an end to it and I read and read and read a lot more. It was my personal wish coming true and I could not have asked for more.
Books and words have constituted a lot of the year. They have helped me grow as a person. They have helped me internalize a lot and made me less dependent on people as the months progressed and merged into each other. My routine was set: I would wake up, prepare my morning cup of tea, drink at leisure with a book, cook my lunch and read till it was lunch-time. In-between there was Twitter, some blogging and a few calls to friends (if I saw the need or if they missed me), evening snack (perhaps), dinner, tweeting and some more reading.
Books made me see a whole new world this one year. They would console me when my friends did not. I was jobless and somehow books gave me the assurance that everything would be alright. Not that I was laid-off or something. I quit for a reason and yet somehow not being able to make it to work every day after I finished a course and internship for it for 2 months, made me feel worthless and that’s when I started reading with a vengeance. I have always been a reader, but a lot changed in this year. I have cried with books. I have filled all my hopes and aspirations in them with every page that turned. I did not want to write anything down. I wanted to read. Other’s words. Their thoughts. I wanted to find some semblance. Anything that would not make me go off the edge and thankfully it did not.
Why am I sharing this? I do not know or maybe I do, but it doesn’t really matter. I am sharing this as a fragment, because this is a book blog and I want to say my bit. The pages read. The thoughts that churned day in and day out with every new book that I picked up. With every new review I wrote. I healed a little. Along the way. There is something one must be passionate about. Otherwise maybe life is not worth it, and for me that one thing happens to be books. The reading of words. The soaking them in. The contemplation after. The knowing that some work touched a chord somewhere. The times in the past year that I called myself idle, but I was wrong. I read. I read a lot and that is the story of the year that went by, from June 2011 to May 2012, and it will only continue (hopefully I will be working full-time). Thank you, books.