for you, a thousand times over

That line alone speaks volumes. The book a thousand times more.

I’ve stopped reading for the longest time. I just never found the time to, or so I keep convincing myself. I hate it when people say they don’t have the time or that they can’t find time - now I should give myself a good beating.

The last book I read (and finished) was a Coelho, The Zahir, about two years ago? It was moving, beautiful, or so as far as I can remember. I should read that again and prove my recall, myself, right.

The Kite Runner by Khaleid Hosseini. My sister had been raving about that book for the longest time - I always trusted her taste, admired her passion for well-written books and beautiful stories. I finally started reading it about a few months ago. Then stopped again. Re-read it again about a week ago. I never stopped - I’d read the book right before I went to bed, then on the boat coming to Cebu, then again at the salon when I gave myself a bit of pampering, and lastly, as my sisters went “malling”, I hid myself in the book.

It was a beautiful story of friendship, loyalty, betrayal, love, forgiveness, humility, and redemption.

Amir, the Afghan narrator, wrote eloquently about pre-war-torn/pre-Russian/pre-Taliban Afghanistan. In vivid details, he spoke about the Afghan culture in a way that sweeps your imagination off to such a magnificent world, barely existing as it may be of present. 

Nonetheless, he wrote with much clarity, even the gory details of the many violent, blood-related incidents in the story. Urrrgggh.

“For you, a thousand times over,” was a line used a couple of times in the story - which practically gave the bottomline of the book in those six words. Hassan, the ever loyal friend/servant of Amir, said those very words and meant every word. Farid, the driver of Amir towards the end of the book, said the line. And at the last page of it, Amir said those very words, meaning every single one of them, to Sohrab, the orphan-son of Hassan.

I cried. And cried. And cried. Over and over. This may not be surprising for those who know me pretty well (I’m quite a “drama queen”, a “crybaby”, they’d say) but with this book, I cried more. I cried in my bed, on the boat, at the salon, in the mall reading that book...

I may not make sense here. I’m not making a review out of the book - I’m not THAT much of a writer - just sharing the beautiful experience of going back to my reading, something I’ve left off for a long time. In the end, I realized just how much of life you appreciate through words, stories, conversations; I’m definitely going back to my reading.

Next up, another book my sister (the ever bookworm that she is) has been raving about, The God of Small Things. 

So, Time, when do we start?