“Why read a novel when I have many more choices to begin with?” I questioned myself again sitting under the cherry blossom and finishing the 83rd novel in the recent year.
For a second, the time flashed back and I imagined myself putting same kind of queries to dad years back when he handed me “A walk to remember”, the very first novel in my life.
He stared at me for a while and began uttering with a curved smile: “A human eventually bows before the passing moons and the thoughts he tends to escape daily. Oftentimes, the costless thoughts and visions cost him everything which may result in shape of different imaginations that surround him. They seem to have lives in different forms and in several figures. Some come from the past which he decamped moons ago, while some remind him to jot them down, some ache to break the chains of the bygone days, some pinch the mind to remind how strident it has become with the past and some form a rabble to tell about the future. However, all the thoughts, visions and the extreme of Imaginations result in form of books and Novels.”
At that moment Dad’s word seemed as if he was speaking some other language. As being a kid at her 8th year, I could do nothing but nod in agreement, opening the novel for the very first time never knowing what it possessed.
But slowly, as a teen, I began to understand what importance a novel carried with itself. Novel made me live hundreds of lives by staying at home, not only did they skilled me in reading, but all of my thoughts bounced from my mind as written words which everyone appreciated.
“A writer never dies”, I often told myself baring and opening a novel to read what it had inside. They sign of the past give lessons for present and hint for the future. Somehow, novels tend to speak like that of a living being.
I once read “I am not sure anyone knows what they are looking for until they find it” and same was for me. I couldn’t have imagined myself changing so massively in many ways if that day my father had not given me that miracle maker. If it doesn’t change you, it has failed being a novel. I purchased novel as if they had half of me hidden in their pages and words. The importance of novels had a huge impact on my life, be it the writers or their words. Usual times, a writer can always observe you and cross through your created shield of privacy.
However, Novelists including Paulo Coelho, Nicolas Sparks, Jojo Moyes, John Green, and many more who had their words curved in my soul that helped me in different stages of my life weather it was an issue, a moment of gloom, a haunted second, or a reason to perish. Their words always gave me the excuse to escape from all the obstacles in my path and courage to handle the situation.
A writer once said “The thing worse than being talked about is not being talked about” as if he steeled the words of my soul by which he meant that a writer lives and keeps living on, but the thing worse than being remembered is being forgotten which will result in your existence of eternity’s nothingness.
A cherry blossom leave fell inside the novel I was holding, boggling me from my thoughts, which again reminded me of a line in a novel that said “We shall live our lives like the leave of Sakura tree that fall in the glimpse of 5 centimeters per second” and at that moment, I realized how blessed of me it was to know so many moments, so, many lives, so many words of so many people just by being myself.
I confined the last held page of novel that my father had written which was titled as “When my daughter asked” a tear fell from my eyes and I began to sing the lines it contained at the ending page that were usually sung along with my dad under the same tree at the fall season.
We will wait till the day arrives
We will wait till the gloom drives
We will wait till seasons depart
We will wait till the words apart
We will wait the end of the book
For novels so good we search and look
We will wait till our patience breaks
When winter is gone and the fall awakes
I stared at the sky and the tree raining leaves upon me, and said “Fall is here father, the season we sung our novel, a fall without you is here” “Thank you for letting me know your life too.