perhaps, the one thing that i am proud of when people stereotype me of is that i read. i may not read the most books in a year compared to those who are deservedly called bookworms, and i definitely do not write enough to pretend to call myself an author of books, myself; but, i do read every so often, and of varied enough material that i can happily call myself a reader, and perhaps even a somewhat-learned person.
i cannot say the same for many other things that warrant stereotyping - that of race or religion, of gender or predisposition, of political inclination or awareness (neither of which i have even the slightest inkling), and a hundred thousand other things. but definitely, mostly regarding the first couple of things that i’ve listed. in fact, i am ashamed to say that with regards to race and religion, i have found myself so far lacking that i am impeded and sometimes distraught because of them (and, of course, their stereotypes).
in any case, i read. for those who share a similar interest, or are sometimes forced to do so, i hope you can empathise with empathy. that when i read any book, it often times does not matter what themes and questions are raised by the author. instead, i find myself honing in, or at least accentuating themes that are pertinent or relevant to my current (ongoing) situation(s) in life. in fact, i can even emboss and embellish the themes beyond the writing of the book, which mayhap is the reason that i find solace and escape in living vicariously through works of fiction. and when i can relate, even in the slightest, to a character - well, this is where ink and paper become the lifeblood of not just those persons, but perhaps even myself.
of course, this all is very fanciful in writing, and has an alluring mystique fit for rogues and despondent lovers. but what tangible is come from all of it, and more importantly what can i relay to you, the reader here, regarding such superfluous endeavours?
i read 'the brothers karamazov' not too long ago. alyosha, or alexei is a protagonist that captures my empathy to no end, of which i choose not to elaborate, if only so that a loose coalescence of ideas may be formed of the abstract i wish to convey, by reading through the next few example characters i wish to mention. which brings me to another alexei, with whom i share the reticence and stoic-ness of love (where i have given it away, but to no reprecussion), yet cannot swear to have even a portion of whose nobility and honour - that who is so misunderstood (and beautifully so portrayed) in anna karenina.
of course, i have listed before a few others, such as the loveless for fermina daza, and the fulfilled of elizabeth bennet. but for today, a nearly-unnamed and perhaps unsung hero:
the chaplain from catch-22. now, i would implore that, if the reader is to read only one book for the entirety of this year, it should be catch-22. and if there should be one character that does not attract attention, but should be given more than is warranted, it should be the chaplain. for he, as i should want to see so much in myself, is guilty of all charges made against him, because the crimes are his. i feel, that if it is inappropriate to say, then at least i have said it in privacy, that this is particularly so of the uncharged faults that the chaplain is also guilty of pertaining to all his relationships - barring perhaps the one irony that does not serve my situation at all, his relationship with his wife. however, if anything can be learned from the chaplain's torment future of being guilty of all accusations not yet made against him, i should relinquish all responsibility, authority, and (un)fortunately all joy that can be made from such future things before they can come to pass - absolving me from all that could be made against me (and with this, wishfully, all that is worse than nail clippings in a box, though i can imagine no greater sin).
before the detritus that already is this paragraph unhinges into something slightly more than mindless dribble and aloof proclamations of love and lust, let us all take a moment to remember that all of this future sin could be avoided easily by remembering ones place. my place. because in any decent outfit, no chaplain can be a major, much less a colonel or general. and even those who aren't chaplains, they may (quickly rise to the ranks and) become someone, but never become more than; especially if the appearance of that person is so easily pigeonholed: of grotesque physique, or infidelity in faith, or laughable accent in speech, or a slouch of gait and posture. but, especially so, if the name is any indication or leader. a name of great import, of high esteem but low amiability, that of major major.