The feet shuffles swiftly. The eyes flicker, unable to still the focus. At the shelves, all become stationary. The hands flip incessantly layer after layer. Once again the feet shuffles, but this time in a straight line along the aisle. Then around the aisle, the eyes flicker, the hands flip. And again. And again.
The mind turns into confusion. Indecision looms. The hands hesitate with respect to the mind that’s thinking. Which one? Just one or two? What for? For whom?
Partly used notebooks stand in between books on my bookshelves. I have uncovered notebooks from different points of my life. One when I was 10, another at 13, another at 17, 18, 20, 21…25, 26…until now 27. There are even notebooks with my scribblings being safekept by others. How did they land there? I don’t know. Maybe I wanted to share my thoughts. Maybe I wanted to throw away my thoughts.
These lovely black and white photos adorn the cover of my most recent purchase. Purchased under the same feet shuffling, eyes flickering circumstances. A piglet for me and two tigers for my father whom I inherited this obsession of purchasing notebooks and writing in them.
Which will eventually be more precious, the beautiful stationery or the words in between the covers?