First of November

Where I live it’s almost always summer. Heat prevails at any time of the year even through the rainy seasons. But nowadays it is getting a little hotter than usual and I often find myself standing in front of the living room fan. I do own a tiny one though, like a personal fan, which I keep with me in my room at all times and it is currently whirring quietly beside me at my desk; the soft humming ironically marring into my brain at almost four in the morning. At this point it’s safe to say that sleep was absent tonight. I don’t know if it will ever come in the next hour or so. I would like a visit, but its arrival is uncertain, like always.

It is dark outside and soon there will be sunlight. I listened to Hilary Hahn this afternoon as I read a few pages of Proust’s Swann’s Way. It is a delight to read and I feel rather nosy inquiring into the narrator’s stream of consciousness, that which consists of a prose too personal to follow through but one which you’d very much like to partake in anyway. But take note of this, Proust writes: “Perhaps the immobility of the things around us is imposed on them by our certainty that they are themselves and not anything else, by the immobility of our mind confronting them.” This allowed my mind to venture once again in an attempt to further understand the short passage mentioned. How much of our understanding of the physical world transcends to the metaphysical one? One wherein material memory is induced and the mobility of things is connected to the way our minds work and perceive these things? Of course, this is all metaphorical. But one could not help but think deeply about it.

I enjoy the way Proust toys with the idea of memory and materiality, of time intertwined; and then ultimately ties all of these elements together in a meditative and thoughtful prose. Indeed it is meditative—as I read on I imagine myself being carried by waves. His prose glides very easily into the reader’s mind although one has to pay close attention to the rapid shifting of the narrator’s thoughts. It is a lovely reading experience and I would like to take my time with the novel. It might be too early to say this, but: Proust is one of the loveliest companions I’ve ever encountered in literature.

It had been a restful weekend. In addition to reading, I was able to get enough sleep earlier this morning as well as in the afternoon. Naps are important I must say, though you may consider me overdramatic to construct my sentence like that. Still, now I understand why they call it “power naps”. I was able to complete all my deadlines this weekend last Saturday so time allowed for a truly lovely Sunday. We will also be having the following week off uni, that puts me in such a good mood just thinking about it.

Well, perhaps now I must try to get some sleep. Morning should arrive in a bit.