Over the past few weeks, I feel as if I’m more aware of the diversity around me when I commute.
1.5 hour of daily commuting to class has tamed me to bring a book–any book, to spare myself from mental torture. Usually, I finish my homework between classes (4 hours. more than enough time), so I am almost always in dire need of brain stimulation. I carry around 2~3 books at a time, not because I enjoy reading, but because subway rides can become unbearable for someone like me.
When 7 train closed down on Saturday of the Macaulay museum meeting, I was forced to take Q88 to Woodhaven for the first time in my life. As soon as I claimed my seat on the back of the bus, I found my self sitting in front (because the seats of the bus allowed 4 people to face each other) of a hispanic man holding red “Sacra Biblia.” He had quite a tranquil look on him, as if he was going for a church meeting, or as if he is a deacon or an acolyte, giving a heavy impression of piety, not according to the definition of Euthyphro and Socrates, but by the definition engraved in our natural human-ness, in that one can imagine that the man is having a relationship with God on his ride to wherever he was going.
Next to him set an elderly lady, murmuring at a volume inaudible, holding a small crimson book. As she mouthed each word, I became curious to see the contents of the book, as the title written on the spine of the book was too faded out to be legible. Luckily, I was able to see the chapter title of the page, which read: “Sanctuary Spell.” That was a great brain stimulant. I started to think: is the “spell” the “spell” that I know? Like… Witchcraft? Sorcery? Magic? I hate to be rude, and if anyone is offended by this post, I will gladly apologize, but I just have to say: I loved the irony that the lady had to sit next to the man.
When I and Sam went to Book Culture to buy the required reading, I noticed that there were several sellers of books around the block.
How much longer would such things exist?
What if books become like scrolls; what if archaeologists in the years to come take my journals and notebooks and infer that humans of 21st century actually wrote things on a bundle of bound papers with ink and graphite?
Books are cool. We should love them.
