Chapter 1: On Books, Love and Self

Note from the Author: Probably a strange blog to be “chapter 1” but that’s what I get for only starting to blog in April I guess. 

Sometime, probably not coincidentally around the time I ran out of time for blogging last year, I became the Melbourne University Book Club treasurer. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a strong reader, I struggled with Harry Potter when I was in grade 4. I’m not very good at discussing books. In fact, I don’t even read all that much more now that I’m busy studying maths… But I am good at numbers, dates, publicity and keeping websites updated. Despite our impressive membership numbers, in a club where everyone is fairly well… bookish, it’s not that easy to find people who want to run the club. We beg people to run the club. And so I landed the position.

Despite the demand on my time I have to say that I enjoy it. And, as a side-effect, I’m back to being interested in reading good books and thinking about them. A welcome break from 4 subjects worth of maths.

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My bookmark is within the last few chapters of reading The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky, when I decide to pick it up and start reading just before bed. Always a risky choice.

It’s 12:30am when I put the book down. Bookmark no longer needed.

Book club’s first book for the year was Life of Pi by Yann Martel. A book that a read a chapter or two in the mornings on the train each day, savouring each description, each thought, each word, leaving me in a transcendent bliss as I entered into my day. The perks of Being a Wallflower is the  second book for the year. I’ve been gulping down the book in chunks, barely chewing, because I don’t want to the flavour to linger in my mouth. There’s something that makes me uncomfortable… for some reason the word “convicting” comes to mind.

It’s 1am and I still can’t sleep because of the strange feeling that’s left in my gut after finishing the book.

It bothers me that I can’t quite put my finger on what it is that is bothering me. So in the way that insomniac minds do, everything plausible becomes a reason. It’s not the main theme* of the book, but something about the way that girls behave in their relationships… They’re strong beautiful female characters, and yet they seem to cling onto their relationships with guys that… I don’t know what it quite is, perhaps they don’t treat them with quite the right respect? But that’s not really it.

What happens in the book is very different to things I’ve been through, but the idea of it still reminds me too much of the sort of relationships I clung to in the past. And I don’t like that from the outside I can see that it’s bad, even though I can’t quite pinpoint the exact thing that is bad about these relationships, but when I was on the inside I would have done anything to keep the relationship together.

I’ve been through two relationships that ended, and sometimes it still haunts my mind wondering what exactly happened. I often think that it was by grace that I went on a year of exchange shortly after I entered into a third relationship, otherwise it might have followed the same pattern of short intense romance followed by a slow realisation that there was no substance holding up the relationship because we hadn’t bothered to build any.

While I was on exchange, I learnt to seek a stronger more mature form of “love”. I stopped reading what I called (even then) “tacky romance novels”, because I realised that the books and films that I had let take over my psyche had taught me that that love is identified with that romantic feeling that films and books always emphasise. But now I realise that that’s just infatuation that must and will pass to become a “love” more endurable, less selfish and (they tell me) more delightful in it’s own way. And it feels like the relationship I am currently in is at this transition point. But books and films don’t give any guidance as to what happens after that initial spark, that’s usually where the story ends. The happy spark of first love is the destination of most books and films followed by a vague “happily ever after”, and slowly I have come to realise that it is not the destination, but just a starting point. The hard part starts here, and I’m not sure what to do.

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It’s Friday night and I come home after spending an evening with my boyfriend feeling somewhat flat. I don’t know why, and it probably doesn’t matter because what is making me feeling miserable is the fact that it’s a feeling that reminds me too much of how I have felt in my past relationships before they ended. I’m a bit confused about why I feel like this. This relationship isn’t like my past relationships, there’s communication, respect, common interests…

It’s later on, I’m listening to soft celtic music from my bed. I like it because it reminds me of who I am. Then I realise what it is that I do and what it is that bothered me in the book. I let my sense of self worth get too wrapped up in what my boyfriend thinks of me. In a world with feminist ideals, I feel really self-conscious and ashamed admitting that and now I’ve put it there I’m struggling to finish off this blog.

If you think about it rationally, it makes no sense, since the more that you place your self worth in what other people think of you the less they are likely to regard you with genuine respect. And even if they have a genuine respect for you, there will be times when they’re tired and down and you can’t just get in a rut because they’re life does not revolve around you. I don’t do it consciously, but like a bad habit, (well, it is a bad habit really,) my mind sinks into that mindset. I don’t like that I do it. And I realise that I need to break myself out of this habit if I ever want to have meaningful friendships or relationships.

Breaking habits is never easy, even when you know they are bad.

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*Don’t ask me what is. I told you: I’m not a strong reader. Ask wikipedia.