Sexing the Cherry
“When my husband had an affair with someone else I watched his eyes glaze over when we ate dinner together and I heard him singing to himself without me, and when he tended the garden it was not for me.
He was courteous and polite; he enjo
He was courteous and polite; he enjo
yed being at home, but in the fantasy of his home I was not the one who sat opposite him and laughed at his jokes. He didn’t want to change anything; he liked his life. The only thing he wanted to change was me.
It would have been better if he had hated me, or if he had abused me, or if he had packed his new suitcases and left.
As it was he continued to put his arm round me and talk about being a new wall to replace the rotten fence that divided our garden from his vegetable patch. I knew he would never leave our house. He had worked for it.
Day by day I felt myself disappearing. For my husband I was no longer a reality, I was one of the things around him. I was the fence which needed to be replaced. I watched myself in the mirror and saw that I was mo longer vivid and exciting. I was worn and gray like an old sweater you can’t throw out but won’t put on.
He admitted he was in love with her, but he said he loved me.
Translated, that means, I want everything. Translated, that means, I don’t want to hurt you yet. Translated, that means, I don’t know what to do, give me time.
Why, why should I give you time? What time are you giving me? I am in a cell waiting to be called for execution.
I loved him and I was in love with him. I didn’t use language to make a war-zone of my heart.
‘You’re so simple and good,’ he said, brushing the hair from my face.
He meant, Your emotions are not complex like mine. My dilemma is poetic.
But there was no dilemma. He no longer wanted me, but he wanted our life.
Eventually, when he had been away with her for a few days and returned restless and conciliatory, I decided not to wait in my cell any longer. I went to where he was sleeping in another room and I asked him to leave. Very patiently he asked me to remember that the house was his home, that he couldn’t be expected to make himself homeless because he was in love.
‘Medea did,’ I said, ‘and Romeo and Juliet and Cressida, and Ruth in the Bible.’
He asked me to shut up. He wasn’t a hero.
‘Then why should I be a heroine?’
He didn’t answer, he plucked at the blanket.
I considered my choices.
I could stay and be unhappy and humiliated.
I could leave and be unhappy and dignified.
I could Beg him to touch me again.
I could live in hope and die of bitterness.
I took some things and left. It wasn’t easy, it was my home too.
I hear he’s replaced the back fence.”
― Jeanette Winterson, Sexing the Cherry
It would have been better if he had hated me, or if he had abused me, or if he had packed his new suitcases and left.
As it was he continued to put his arm round me and talk about being a new wall to replace the rotten fence that divided our garden from his vegetable patch. I knew he would never leave our house. He had worked for it.
Day by day I felt myself disappearing. For my husband I was no longer a reality, I was one of the things around him. I was the fence which needed to be replaced. I watched myself in the mirror and saw that I was mo longer vivid and exciting. I was worn and gray like an old sweater you can’t throw out but won’t put on.
He admitted he was in love with her, but he said he loved me.
Translated, that means, I want everything. Translated, that means, I don’t want to hurt you yet. Translated, that means, I don’t know what to do, give me time.
Why, why should I give you time? What time are you giving me? I am in a cell waiting to be called for execution.
I loved him and I was in love with him. I didn’t use language to make a war-zone of my heart.
‘You’re so simple and good,’ he said, brushing the hair from my face.
He meant, Your emotions are not complex like mine. My dilemma is poetic.
But there was no dilemma. He no longer wanted me, but he wanted our life.
Eventually, when he had been away with her for a few days and returned restless and conciliatory, I decided not to wait in my cell any longer. I went to where he was sleeping in another room and I asked him to leave. Very patiently he asked me to remember that the house was his home, that he couldn’t be expected to make himself homeless because he was in love.
‘Medea did,’ I said, ‘and Romeo and Juliet and Cressida, and Ruth in the Bible.’
He asked me to shut up. He wasn’t a hero.
‘Then why should I be a heroine?’
He didn’t answer, he plucked at the blanket.
I considered my choices.
I could stay and be unhappy and humiliated.
I could leave and be unhappy and dignified.
I could Beg him to touch me again.
I could live in hope and die of bitterness.
I took some things and left. It wasn’t easy, it was my home too.
I hear he’s replaced the back fence.”
― Jeanette Winterson, Sexing the Cherry
Labels: Authors, Books to read, Fiction, literature
Thursday, August 30, 2012 @ 11:26 PM / 0 daisies
This is where I leave you
"You have to look at what is in front of you, at what it could it be, and stop measuring it against what you've lost. I know this to be wise and true, just as I know that pretty much no one can do it.""I'm living in separate universes, and I have no idea where I actually belong."
"You're terrified of being alone. Anything you do now will be motivated by that fear. You have to stop worrying about finding love again. It will come when it comes. Get comfortable with being alone. It will empower you."
"....then you'll know the first thing you do at the end is reflect on the beginning. Maybe it's some form of reverse closure or just the basic human impulse toward sentimentality, or masochism, but as you stand there shell-shocked in the charred ruins of your life, your mind will invariably go back to the time when it all started."
- This is where I leave you, Jonathan Tropper
Labels: Fiction
Wednesday, July 11, 2012 @ 7:13 AM / 0 daisies
Books to read: on the list!
“The wish to travel seems to me characteristically human: the desire to move, to satisfy your curiosity or ease your fears, to change the circumstances of your life, to be a stranger, to make a friend, to experience an exotic landscape, to risk the unknown.” ―Paul Theroux, The Tao of Travel
“Things look different depending on your perspective. As I see it, fighting to bridge those gaps isn’t what really matters. The most important thing is to know them inside and out, as differences, and to understand why certain people are the way they are.” ― Banana Yoshimoto, The Lake
"I hope she’ll be a fool—that’s the best thing a girl can be in this world, a beautiful little fool… You see, I think everything’s terrible anyhow… And I know. I’ve been everywhere and seen everything and done everything.” - F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby
(credits to BooksActually Facebook Page)
Labels: booksactually, Fiction
Thursday, June 14, 2012 @ 8:14 AM / 0 daisies
Books to read: on the list!
The laundry can wait. So can the dishes.
Our emails and mobile phones too.
We could sit naked by the window
if we dared, or we could catch the news.
I could watch you struggle not to doze
off during the sports announcements.
There will be plenty of time for sleep.
Since you asked, the plants are watered.
The light has stopped flickering, since
I replaced the bulb. Who knows, the dishes
might clean themselves after we are gone.
How about if we add an extra hour
to our day, so we may fill it with sighs?
There will be plenty of time for sleep.
For now, let us settle into the dimness
of evening, our talk like the passing
of a melody from one instrument
to another. Are you worried about how
early you would have to go to work
tomorrow? Take a breath. Look at me.
There will be plenty of time for sleep.
―Cyril Wong, Titling our plates to catch the light
The Lover's Dictionary by David Levithan
“reservation, n
There are times when I worry that I’ve already lost myself. That is, that my self is so inseparable from being with you that if we were to separate, I would no longer be. I save this thought for when I feel the darkest discontent. I never meant to depend so much on someone else.”
(credits to BooksActually Facebook Page)
Labels: booksactually, Fiction, literature, poems
Saturday, June 9, 2012 @ 4:01 AM / 0 daisies
why i'm not where you are
"I like to see people run to each other, I like the kissing and the crying, I like the impatience, the stories that the mouth can't tell fast enough, the ears that aren't big enough, the eyes that can't take in all of the change, I like the hugging, the bringing together, the end of missing someone. I sit on the side with a coffee and write in my daybook, I examine the flight schedules that I've already memorised. I observe, I write, I try not to remember, being here fills my heart with so much joy, even if the joy isn't mine and at the end of the day I fill the suitcase with old news."
- Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, Jonathan Safran Foer
Labels: Fiction, something I read
Monday, June 4, 2012 @ 5:24 AM / 0 daisies
On seeing the 100% perfect girl
"One beautiful April Morning, on a narrow side street in Tokyo's fashionable Harujuku neighbourhood, I walked past the 100% perfect girl.
Tell you the truth, she's not that good-looking. She doesn't stand out in any way. Her clothes are nothing special. The back of her hair is still bent out of shape from sleep. She isn't young, either - must be near thirty, not even close to a "girl," properly speaking. But still, I know from fifty yards away: She's the 100% perfect girl for me. The moment I see her, there's a rumbling in my chest, and my mouth is as dry as a desert.
Maybe you have your own particular favourite type of girl - one with slim ankles, say, or big eyes, or graceful fingers, or you're drawn for no good reason to girls who take their time with every meal. I have my own preferences, of course. Sometimes in a restaurant I'll catch myself staring at the girl at the table next to mine because I like the shape of her nose.
- Haruki Murakami, The Elephant Vanishes
Sunday, April 29, 2012 @ 5:39 PM / 0 daisies