ThatWorld.

This post is not going to be a passionate outflow of words against most of our “systems”. I will adhere to the sweet part of me, instead of the spunky one. I want to write about books. I even want to write books, but I wouldn’t know what to write about. I will probably end up writing about the Pythagoras Theorem or Bohr’s postulates.

    I generally read all those books typically suited for teenagers, fantasy/fiction sorts. My love for these is very obvious from the fact that I haven’t missed a single word in the Harry Potter, Hunger Games, Percy Jackson, Heroes of Olympus, Divergent, etc. series. I have read and reread every single bit of every single book. And I am a voracious reader. Not boasting, but I finished The Fault In Our Stars in 6 hours, which could have been bettered if mom didn’t disturb me for snack, milk, dinner and eye-rest. While the effective reading time is short in my case, the total involvement with a story lasts for weeks. When I am reading, I am simultaneously imagining, creating the scene in my mind palace. And then when I think about that book in bed, I recreate those scenes and wish that I dream of the book. But these wishes have conditions. The protagonist or the next-to-protagonist is replaced by me. Earlier, I used to take the female lead’s position. But after my feminist ideals evolved, I take the lead, whatever the gender. And I have all kinds of stupid, horror, serious, action, drama dreams, but only ONCE did I actually dream of a book (I stood in the middle of 12 Greek gods after some heroic battle). Guess my brain gets so overdosed that it doesn’t want to think about it anymore. Recently, I have been resisting all urges to read a book because I know that if I do, I will get lost. Get lost in the world of fiction, fighting every moment to get out of it.

        My older friends ask me to read non-fiction or very-realistic-fiction novels. And it’s a straight no from my side. Because according to me the whole point of reading a novel is escaping from reality. Don’t we live in the real world all the time already? Yes, but books could be misleading too. People say that they give you a sugar-coated version of most things, cherry-topped with a happy ending. I believe that is why most authors these days make sure that they kill our favorite characters in the end. Unnecessary reality checks. Or maybe we would not like those books so much if the end was not impactful and un-cliche(accent). If we didn’t feel like strings were detached and pleasure stolen. Maybe that is what leaves us wanting for more. For a sequel. It is probably a strategy to leave the readers wondering, hence wanting more explanation from the author.

    I wish to make a cliff-hanger statement but

MYD