It’s a quiet Saturday afternoon and I find myself wrapping books. It didn’t occur to me that I would have so much more than a stack of neatly wrapped books after doing the chore, which to me didn’t feel like a chore at all. The train of thoughts that followed would then surprisingly lead me to realize something like the idea of which I have written down as the title to this group of paragraphs.
Who finds fun in wrapping books? I guess not many people do.
This was the first thought that occurred to me while cutting self-adhesive book cover. A stack of five paperbacks lay waiting to be transformed into their more presentable selves as thoughts crisscross one another in my head.
Books have been my friends ever since I was a kid. I remember one summer when we stayed for vacation at my grandparents’ (my father’s folks) place. I brought with me my school backpack aside from the traveling bag containing one month’s worth of clothes. What is on your other bag? They all asked. I opened it and showed them a stack of books, among them my textbooks on English and Filipino filled with stories. They were all amused to find a seven-year-old who wants to spend her summer with books instead of her playmates. Well, I did play with my friends that summer but mornings were spent reading those books. And every time I got bored with our games, I’d go back to my books in my nice little corner on the second floor of my grandparents’ big house.
Over the years, this memory has been buried until this afternoon when it resurfaced as I found myself spending time with another stack of books, excited to discover what each of them has to say.
I am aware that I have a habit of always having a book in my bag. It’s my foolproof way of avoiding boredom in case I get stuck waiting in a line, waiting for another person for an appointment, or waiting for a traffic jam to clear out. But I guess I was just not aware that it’s kind of a clue in knowing how He has designed me – my strengths, my interests, my dislikes, my weaknesses and everything in between.
I am 25 years, 7 months, and something days old as I write this. I’ve heard it said somewhere that something ‘magical’ happens when you turn 25. Brain development becomes complete and a person becomes more capable of making sound decisions. (how cool is that? want to read more on it? http://www.hhs.gov/opa/familylife/tech_assistance/etraining/adolescent_brain/Development/prefrontal_cortex/)
Having said that, I find that somehow I’m knowing more about myself these past months, in a way that I am aware of it. (Could it be because of the brain development completion thing?) And this love for books or anything written is just one of the many things I’ve come to realize as not just a natural tendency but something that’s part of a grand design made for a specific purpose. Call it self-awareness but I think it’s more than that. I don’t know what to call it really but I love the things I’ve been learning. About me. About life in general. It’s sort of a rediscovering and at the same time a discovering of oneself. It’s like seeing things from the past but seeing them in a whole new light.
Nowadays, I’m excited about life.Which is not something normal because I’m not the excitable type. But things have been changing. I am changing. I’m beginning to see things in me which I haven’t before and it has been really helpful in navigating through what I call quarter-life crisis.
I feel like I’m on the brink of something. Something that’s not just a phase but rather lifelong. Like an awakening of sorts. Like second wind on a race. Like nearing the end of Part I in a novel with Part II just a few pages away.
(written one Saturday afternoon and posted on a midweek almost two months later)