The TRUTH

I got out my mobile phone; after all, I had a reasonable number of friends in the city, but it was too late to phone anyone. I considered going into one of the bars and ordering a drink; someone was bound to recognize me and invite me to join them. But I resisted the temptation and tried to get through that moment, discovering, in the process, that there is nothing worse than the feeling that no one cares whether we exist or not, that no one is interested in what we have to say about life, and that the world can continue turning without our awkward presence.

I began to imagine how many millions of people were, at that moment, feeling utterly useless and wretched - however rich, charming and delightful they might be - because they were alone that night, as they were yesterday, and as they might well be tomorrow. Students with no one to go out with, older people sitting in front of the TV as if it were their sole salvation, businessmen in their hotel rooms, wondering if what they were doing made any sense, women who spent the afternoon carefully applying their makeup and doing their hair in order to go to a bar only to pretend that they're not looking for company; all they want is confirmation that they're still attractive; the men ogle them and chat them, but the women reject them all disdainfully, because they feel inferior and are afraid the men will find out that they're single mothers or lowly clerks with nothing to say about what's going on in the world because they work from dawn to dusk to scrape a living and have no time to read the newspapers. People who look at themselves in the mirror and think themselves ugly, believing that being beautiful is what really matters, and spend their time reading magazines in which everyone is pretty, rich, and famous. Husbands and wives who wish they could talk over supper as they used to, but there are always other things demanding their attention, more important things, and the conversation can always wait for a tomorrow that never comes.

That day, I had lunch with a friend who had just got divorced and she said to me, 'Now I can enjoy the freedom I've always dreamed of having.' But that's a lie. No one wants that kind of freedom: we all want commitment, we all want someone to be beside us to enjoy the beauties of Geneva, to discuss books, films, or even to share a sandwich with because there isn't enough money to buy one each. Better to eat half a sandwich than a whole one.

---The Zahir

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Now seriously, I cannot stress enough just how effective bathroom reading has become. (Obviously, it's not all that effective on Paolo since he's still on Dorian Gray whereas I am now on Stephen King's "The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon" (I really have to start collecting more Stephen King books) after having re-read "The Giver" by Lois Lowry (which I fully recognize now at my age to be an absolutely brilliant book) after I had devoured my sister's Paulo Coelho collection...

And there really is no sweeter thing than to see his book next to mine in the bathroom.

A redefined definition of young love.