Inferno- Dan brown

The problem with reading Dan brown is that it's like watching a drama series. You find it hard to stop, Which explains the panda like eyes I have these past 3-4 days. Inferno is however, a diluted version of da Vinci code and angels and demons in my opinion. It's hard to top the successes of those two books. The same goes for the lost symbol. The formula of the Robert Langdon series is similar but in inferno, there's less of the puzzles and riddles going on. Whatever puzzle there is, lies only in a small excerpt of dante's poem. It was a little nice that in inferno, he moved out of his favorite settings-france and Italy, to turkey.  I don't know what else to say about the book, except that there are just too little things going on and there's really nothing new and exciting in this book. The only thing it did for me was inspire me to read the divine comedy. I'd started reading it halfway through reading inferno but boy, the language is really not that palatable. 

One other thing that came to my mind while reading the book was that the problem with the world is not exactly over population per se. If we had not advanced our technology this fast and human beings have not gotten into the habit of over consumption, then over population might not be that big an issue. if the population we have now had occurred say two centuries ago, would we have feared that the resources we have would be insufficient for the population? I don't know. Maybe, maybe not. 

Inferno- dan brown

Trying to resist writing a book review before I actually finish reading it. 

The puzzle in this book revolved around (no prize for guessing) dante's divine comedy. The central problem in this book is over-population, which the villain( as of chapter 72) is trying to solve. 

But I guess throughout history, humanity has a way of culling itself, whether through calamities, pandemics, wars, etc. do we really need human intervention? 

Will write more about the book when I finish. Too sleepy for now. 

Painting

Guess painting by numbers doesn't really work. 

Acrostics

http://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Acrostic

While reading about Nabokov, I came across the fact that he used an acrostic in one of his books. So did Lewis Carroll.

I did something like that once but never realized that there was a word for it. I think acrostic was also quite popular in our autograph books.

Some samples:

Edgar Allan Poe 

Elizabeth it is in vain you say
"Love not"—thou sayest it in so sweet a way:
In vain those words from thee or L.E.L.
Zantippe's talents had enforced so well:
Ah! if that language from thy heart arise,
Breath it less gently forth—and veil thine eyes.
Endymion, recollect, when Luna tried
To cure his love—was cured of all beside—
His follie—pride—and passion—for he died.

In Lewis Carroll's Through the Looking-Glass, the final chapter "A Boat, Beneath A Sunny Sky"^[9] is an acrostic of the real Alice's name: Alice Pleasance Liddell.

A boat, beneath a sunny sky
Lingering onward dreamily
In an evening of July -

Children three that nestle near,
Eager eye and willing ear,
Pleased a simple tale to hear -

Long has paled that sunny sky:
Echoes fade and memories die:
Autumn frosts have slain July.

Still she haunts me, phantomwise,
Alice moving under skies
Never seen by waking eyes.

Children yet, the tale to hear,
Eager eye and willing ear,
Lovingly shall nestle near.

In a Wonderland they lie,
Dreaming as the days go by,
Dreaming as the summers die:

Ever drifting down the stream -
Lingering in the golden gleam -
Life, what is it but a dream?

Nabokov's letters to Vera

Nabokov's letters to his wife, Vera. Quite a charming love story and about the art of letter writing.

http://www.brainpickings.org/2014/12/03/letters-to-vera-vladimir-nabokov/

I won’t hide it: I’m so unused to being — well, understood, perhaps, — so unused to it, that in the very first minutes of our meeting I thought: this is a joke… But then… And there are things that are hard to talk about — you’ll rub off their marvelous pollen at the touch of a word… You are lovely…

[…]

Yes, I need you, my fairy-tale. Because you are the only person I can talk with about the shade of a cloud, about the song of a thought — and about how, when I went out to work today and looked a tall sunflower in the face, it smiled at me with all of its seeds.

[…]

See you soon my strange joy, my tender night.

Love - a light

For love in its purest form,

Can bear no darkness,

Nor the slightest blemish.

It hides no secrets,

Tells no lies. 

It doesn't provoke,

Nor does it incite anger.

It doesn't create jealousy,

Nor does it inflict pain.

For love in its truest form,

Is a tower of light,

It shines on the path you are taking,

It gives you a glimpse of the future 

That awaits you,

In its brightness, 

There is no fear,

No shadows,

Nothing to stumble and trip you. 

Love, a clarity,

That awaken all your senses.

The happiness project- Gretchen Rubin

This was an okay read but there were "resolutions" and steps to achieving these resolutions that I felt like trying out. It's not exactly groundbreaking stuff but rather simple things like "if you think you are happy, you are happy", "cutting others slack", etc. I agree with the author that staying chirpy is actually hard work, as compared to being negative/ "heavy".

It's easy to be critical, judgmental, angry, etc but difficult to let yourself remain positive/ cheerful despite any circumstances.  

I liked her idea of publishing her own books through a website called lulu.com. Eg turning all her blog entries into a book, short stories she had written, etc. 

I think making resolutions is easy, but getting started and sticking to them is tough. I liked that the author discerned the difference between a goal and a resolution. A goal is something you set to accomplish and once achieved, that goal is finished. Resolution is something you set to achieve everyday of your life- basically becoming a part of who you are. 

My resolution is to be more encouraging and be able to pass compliments/ words of affection. I often have difficulty encouraging / complimenting others even when I really feel that the person is deserving of it or is needing to hear an encouragement. I don't know why it is a barrier for me. Shyness? Fear of appearing too "fake"? 

Case in point: niece said she hasn't seen me for a while and that she missed me. I wanted to say I've missed you too but just couldn't bring myself to do it. 

Merry Christmas

Could barely sleep and it's already 230 am in the morn of Christmas.

It just struck me how destructive self-centredness could be. Not only does it make the self-centred one unhappy, it also makes others ard the self-centered one unhappy. 

But I'm seeing more and more of this behavior happening around me, and it has no age limit. It afflicts the young and the old alike.

Well,what do we do ?

Life is life is life. Tonight was enjoyable for me. I love listening to mclean's when love begins on record and I've loaned my all-Time fav book the great gatsby out. And also Wodehouse and the John Lennon's letters. There's something beautiful about sharing what you love with others. 

Painting by numbers

Seems like a fun yet challenging project. Reminds me of a picture from a calendar called simplicity that I liked a long time ago. I had scanned the picture but it's now lost. 

There's something about red rowboats that gives it a pretty, rustic charm. 

The happiness project-Gretchen Rubin

Chapter 5 of the book. I just wanted to pen some thoughts down before I forget. The topic is about "fun". The author decided to take fun more seriously. Have I given any thoughts to what I think is fun for me? Or am I mostly going along with the flow? What is the one thing I can spend hours doing, without feeling bored? An activity that has no economic or constructive value but which i still enjoy putting time and effort into? So far, the one thing I can do for a long period of time without getting restless is reading (which is such a given). The second thing is probably writing (another given!). I used to like scrapbooking but got bored of it. I also enjoy playing the ukulele and piano to myself but enjoy it so much less when there is an audience. Cycling, taking walks I guess are also enjoyable. It does seem like the activities I like are quite mellow and solitary. I also like the idea of escape rooms but haven't tried them yet. Who doesn't love treasure hunt of sort? I think there are many things i like and find interesting but few that I am truly passionate/ dedicated about. Anyway, I'm not sure if anything useful would come out of the book. I guess the happiness the author described is likely to be ephemeral but will elaborate more when I finish the book.

On a side note, I got a bit excited too when the author talked about starting a children's literature reading group after finding a kindred spirit. She had debated about whether to bring up the fact that she liked Harry Potter, as it seemed shallow to like children's lit, especially when one was speaking to a literary agent. Lo and behold, she later found out that the literary agent was equally fond of Harry Potter. She later added this quote from CS Lewis's "on three ways for writing for children":

When I was 10, I read fairy tales in secret and would have been ashamed if I had been found doing so. Now that I am fifty, I read them openly. When I became a man I put away childish things, including the fear of childishness and the desire to be very grown up. 

I had read this excerpt in an article by brainpickings. I guess perhaps we shouldn't be afraid of being judged for what we like. We like what we like. 

To love or not to love

Sometimes I wonder if we should judge who are worthy of our help and who are not? The politically correct answer is of course that it is not our place to judge. Yet, sometimes after lending a hand to someone, you just feel as if you have unleashed a monster. People who feel that your help is their entitlement, people who want more than what they had asked for in the first place, people who in the end just decided that you being their crutch is the only way out for them. God commanded us to love and that is the highest order that is seemingly simple, yet perpetually unattainable. How do you love everyone? It's tough enough to love someone close to you and who loves you back. How do you love someone who is "unloveable", someone who makes loving them so difficult? I don't know. It's easy to say that we can find the good, even the tiniest bit of good, in everyone but the actually doing calls for tremendous efforts. I guess maybe I'm not trying hard enough. 

True grit- bear grylls

Thought it might be nicer if he had included some of his own stories, rather than purely those of others. It might be interesting to know more about the backgrounds of all those heroes grylls mentioned in the book. Is there a common characteristic amongst these people with high endurance and survival instinct? Most people would have given up when caught in their situations but they didn't. Very admirable. The three main groups of people he featured in his book were war heroes (spies, POWs, etc), mountaineers, and pioneer explorers (the first explorers to reach the south and north poles, Antarctica, etc). Truly amazing but it also makes me wonder if some of these people had a death wish. I think I liked the war stories better than the rest. For the rest, the stories all blended into one another and sounded very similar-of people meeting with avalanches, trying to survive hypothermic circumstances, frostbite, starvation, etc.

But nonetheless, not too bad a read. 

Bday

Sis brought me and mom for lunch at Daniel Boulud's as a bday treat. It suddenly struck me as odd this whole birthday thing. Why do we celebrate our birthdays? What great things have we done to deserve a celebration in our name? It seems more befitting to "reward" our moms on our bdays, rather than ourselves, for the sacrifices and pain they bore for our existence. I guess maybe I don't feel "deserving" of a celebration, coz what I have done really? Has anyone benefitted from my existence? 

Time

Fighting against time, 

The mortal enemy,

Created by men, 

Feared by kings,

The mortal enemy,

That assaults all.

The fight is futile,

Wise men know,

Even the fools,

Time, it runs,

The sprinter,

That we can't race against.

The lock

Only the stars know my secrets,

The secrets I would never tell,

The secrets you would never know.

My silence is my safe harbour,

My silence that could never be broken,

The silence that only my heart understands.

If you unlock all my secrets,

Then you will see but you will not comprehend,

That the pandora box once opened,

Can never be the same again.

And that lock you picked,

Is the heart that falls apart. 

And that heart, 

It belongs to me.

The John Lennon letters -hunter davies

Quite a collection I must say! Very nicely put together in a chronological manner. Must have been tough tracking down all the letters that Lennon had sent throughout his life, and also the accompanying stories+interviews. John Lennon struck me as a little of a mad man, especially during his youth and also during his time with Yoko Ono. I guess there's a little streak of madness in creativity. 

I really like the cover of the book as well- a young Lennon with his eyes closed. 

The ending was a bit sad. A seemingly ordinary day. He signing an autograph for a fan from Hawaii, who later shot him dead. 

Also realized from the book that Lennon and Yoko Ono were in Singapore during 1976, and had sent some postcards to friends from there. 

I liked some of his writings from his childhood, where he had written funny, short, nonsensical stuff, including a newspaper he made up. 

He emphasized several times that he just wanted to make others laugh. In some of his later letters to his family, he kept reminding them that "I am still me!" People naturally assume that fame, money change people but sometimes, on the off chance, they do not. 

On a side note I just realized today,I had finished the book a few minutes before the day he was shot (8 dec)  34 years ago. Talk about coincidences! 

Widow for One Year- John Irving

Have had this book for some years but never got around to reading it. Quite enjoyed it especially the beginning and the ending. I got bored around the middle. Story began with Marion and Ted Cole, Eddie O'Hare, and Ruth Cole. Marion and Ted had lost their sons in a freak car accident and Marion never got over the loss. Ted was a famous children's book writer and was often infidel. He hired Eddie one summer to be his assistant but it turned out that Ted had a more sinister plan in mind. as expected by Ted, Eddie, then 16, fell in love with the sad Marion, who was 39. The love affair lasted almost the whole summer but with Marion eventually abandoning her family, including the 4-year old Ruth Cole. Marion couldn't bring herself to love another child; afraid that one day she might lose Ruth too. 

I guess this is true for many of us. We are afraid to love because we fear losing. Love and lose, just a letter different. 

Anyway Eddie became a writer but not a very good one, as all his books were about that summer affair. He never got over loving Marion.

Ruth also grew up to be a writer and Eddie's life continued to be intertwined with the Coles. But he never found out where Marion was except that he discovered that she too, had became a writer under a nom de plume. She had included descriptions of her lost boys in her stories as part of her grieving process.

Ruth was the more successful of the three and had a love-hate relationship with her father, as she knew of his infidelity with other women. The last straw came when she finally learnt that Ted had been sleeping with her best friend, hannah. Ted Cole eventually committed suicide when he learnt from Ruth that one of his squash mates had abused her.

Ruth then married Allan, her editor, because he was a safe choice but he later died from cardiac arrest. She then met Harry, a street cop from Amsterdam, where she had been to research her story. She had witnessed the murder of a prostitute and had written to Harry with the clues. Harry only realized it was Ruth who wrote to him after reading one of her novels. 

I liked the ending when Marion finally got in touch with Eddie and then Ruth. Eddie and Marion fell in love again despite 37 years of being apart. When Ruth saw Marion and Eddie, she was in tears. Marion said to her," darling, it's just Eddie and me." The same phrase she said to her when Ruth had walked in on them together, when she was 4. 

Yeats

Had heard of Yeats but never truly took the time to read his poems. Until I read one of his poems in John Irving's widow for a year.
I don't know why I like his poems. But they are simple, maybe a little sorrowful and also beautiful.

When you are old
WHEN you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;
How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim Soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;
And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

Dream of death-William butler yeats

I DREAMED that one had died in a strange place
Near no accustomed hand,
And they had nailed the boards above her face,
The peasants of that land,
Wondering to lay her in that solitude,
And raised above her mound
A cross they had made out of two bits of wood,
And planted cypress round;
And left her to the indifferent stars above
Until I carved these words:
i{She was more beautiful than thy first love,}
i{But now lies under boards.}

To whom, do I write these letters to?

To whom, do I write these letters to?
The honest words,
The unadorned truth,
Before they get stolen by the world,
Before they get stolen by time,
Before they get stolen by the thieves
That reside in the recesses of my mind.

Aedh wishes for the cloths of heaven-William butler yeats

Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

Yeats

Man as an island?

After the mad running around looking for gifts for the kids, had to cancel the trip after getting the flu which came without warning. Rather disappointed. Maybe I should not have kept so many late nights recently.

On a random note, I've always had this idea that we came into the world alone and would also die alone. But I guess that's not entirely true. When we came into the world we had our mothers and most times, other caregivers, be it nurses, doctors or midwives. When we die, I guess for some, they do go alone but for others, they have family members with them.
I'm not sure what point I'm deriving at. Just that if following my former thought, it
seems as if at the two most significant times in our lives, we are alone. So why are we so afraid of loneliness? But now I realized I guess we were never meant to live as a lone island, since we were surrounded by people the moment we were borne. And God had made 2 instead of 1 because He knew that human beings are susceptible to loneliness.

I was quite afraid last night when I was ill & told sis to give me a call in the morning just to check that im alive. Talk about being dramatic. But I guess that's the main fear when u live alone. So can one truly live in solitude without fear? I dont know.

I've brought myself here
To the place I didn't want to be.