The remains of those days


It has never been that green before, or at least, she couldn’t reminiscence.

The hills, the trees and the grass felt fresher as they vigorously bent under the salty breeze. One of the perks of living on the coast, she thought. When did all this become so foreign to her? After all, it was the place she’d spent most of her life chasing the crisp blueish breeze that led to no other place but her favorite hide out: a gray and gold mix of slightly pebbly covered sand line, where seagulls often came down and built some nests against the harsh wall of the cliff. Ten years later, and this still was her spot.

As a child, she simply  loved to just zone herself out from the rest of the world, often too noisy to hear her own thoughts. But there, she could think, she could cry and she was free to scream her lungs out if that was her wish. No one there to judge and no reason to confine herself to customary laws – just a bunch of stiff necks, as her friend would nicely put it. Exhaling, she was now one with the shore, as she could feel the wobbly pebbles beneath her feet, as she slowly rocked them. Damp and salty – this was the smell that brought back memories and that made her feel as if she were still a child. It was amazing how one simple breeze can take you back to the past as if nothing had ever changed. By this time, she would have heard her mother’s voice, generous and slightly worried, calling her back for supper.

She opened her eyes.

Now the gray rising tides had found themselves mirrored in her eyes – humid and sad around the corners. Then she realized that things did change and also, that this was the reason why she’d never been able to pull herself together and come back home. The entire coast was impregnated with her mother’s image and smell. Because she loved so much being near the sea, her mother would always smell like the breeze: warm, salty, crisp. Especially in the night time when embracing her good night, mom’s touch was soft and invigorating, sending away all the bad dreams – oh, how much she craved that reassuring touch. That place was her mother. Now that she was no longer there, things would never be as they used to, that is, never complete. However, this did not mean that turning back on her heels and leaving was the safest or sanest thing to do, she now realized, as at that time she thought it was.

This time, she would stay and let her memories invade her.

And the most surprising thing, she had never felt so close to her mom as she did now.


Bookaholic Casualties


When it comes to books, God only knows how many of those I have acquired during the years and with how much sacrifice and excitement! They say that any addiction starts out as an innocent interest or even curiosity; well, it’s a slippery slope!

I believe that the most guilty for all this are just two people in the whole world: Mama and Papa! Oh yes, it is all  their fault for planting and watering the evil seeds of thirst for knowledge and escapades within the pages of their own bookish heritage. The one-wall book shelf filled with fairy tales, adventure books, classics and other categories that included even cooking, travelling and fashion tips of the 60s and the 70s. Oh yes, everything they had enjoyed reading, from childhood to adulthood, was all beautifully preserved and passed on to my sister and me.

However, the more I think, i realize that most of the credit for the criminal mastermind goes to my mother, because I can easily remember her voice, like my own conscience inside of my head, feeding me happy thoughts about reading all the age-appropriate literature all the way to uni days, when she fully supported my choice to become a Lit Addict forever instead of a Law School graduate.

Nonetheless, If I were to track down my own timeline of book acquisition, it would have to start back in high school. It was then when I discovered the joys and thrills of the amazing smell contained in the pages of the Pre-Loved Books, and of course, the joy of huge discount for that matter. There was a time when I was actually negotiating my future orders with the people who sold those books. Ahh, the good old times … Once the uni started, I gave in to French and English writers and other universal writers, also striving to read les oeuvres in the original language. Soon before I realized it, I was having more books than clothes and more coffee that food, that is of course, because you simply cannot have one without another!

I also recall the time when there were bestseller romantic novels coming along my favorite magazine! My mom, sister and I would simply hunt down the next book in the collection and search all over town, just in case we might have missed some previous editions that hadn’t been sold yet. And of course, I wouldn’t want to forget to mention the online book stores that soon became the top bookmarks of the browser. But the anticipation! Nothing like it! Waiting for the notice in my mail box that a parcel just arrived and the incomparable satisfaction of ripping that box open and just sniffing the new books.

At present time, I cannot say that I have recovered from the books hunt and I definitely know that I never will! I am still into all the methods of enriching my book case and ultimately, my addiction! Oops, forgot to proudly yet, modestly, mention that my book collection is now spread all over Europe, from East to West given my previous locations as a soul-searching type of person that I am and that it is in a continuous expansion.

What about you? Would you be able to pin point the moment back in time when the bookaholic epidemic struck you and what were the exact casualties?  Actually, forget the numbers, you can never have too many.