An hour of literature class is enough to drain my brain juice. We’ve been working on postmodern literature this whole semester. Paul Auster was delusive, Ian McEwan on Atonement was brilliant, but my recent reading on Disgrace by J. M. Coetzee left an imprint in me that I believe will not be leaving for quite a long while. It makes me wonder about the blurred lines on certain ideologies and concepts we have long known, or seem to know all so well. And if desire is what drives us, then what drives desire? Can I trust the narrator who seemed to know the story of David Lourie all too well? Or is it just another trick of the postmodernists for me to fall into, trapping me in ambiguity and frustration over what only is essentially no more than just a novel.
Taking the elevator up to the upper floor of the library, I walked pass the long rows of steel bookshelves to the study area. I looked for our common table and without a doubt, I saw my best friend sitting on one end of the table, and his bag on the table next to it. We made it a point to save seats for each other if we have classes that weren’t too long. I approached him from behind and gave him a bear hug, wrapping my arms around his chest whilst giving him a peck on his cheek. He turned his head and gave his million dollar smile that I’ve come to love seeing. This has become a routine for the both of us. However, it was never a boring one. Not to me, at least.
Often times we’d get on with our work, both minding our own business with our heads haunched over our laptops. But occasionally I would sneak a peek at him from the corner of my eye. He would furrow his brows whilst staring into his laptop that’s either filled with codes or journal articles for his thesis paper. My fingers itch to smoothen the creases on his brows, but instead I’d reach out and hold his fingers in mine. I don’t suppose that could remove his stress, but I do hope that through this small gesture a little rock on his shoulder would be lifted. Perhaps it is the same for him when he strokes the small of my back or runs his hand through the back of my head. I feel like a child again, love and being loved. Perhaps I too was frowning and hadn’t realise it myself.
His recent ventures into photography has led me being part of his experiments of trial and error. He played around on his new editing software with a newly taken picture of me during our night at the Romeo and Juliet ballet. It was his first ballet and I certainly hope for more nights such as this to come! With the revamp of my blog, he helped me pick and perfected one of my solo shots that is currently my site’s main image. I finally have a picture that wasn’t from Google who represented a part of me. But rather I now had me representing myself, and I love it so much.
Thanks for taking the time and effort. Here’s to more pictures and words!
Your best friend.