Writing my masters thesis was one of the most exciting periods of my life. Initially I wanted to write on James Joyce’s Ullyses (but who hasn’t?) or Vladimir Nabokov’s Lolita or Pale Fire (again, who hasn’t?). Henry Miller’s Tropic of Cancer? Then I moved to more contemporary writers. What about Don DeLillo’s White Noise? Maybe Zadie Smith? I know, Salman Rushdie! But not The Satanic Verses. Everyone and their mother has written about The Satanic Verses.
I have been going through my old books to see what I find. This is the third entry; I’m slowly combing through all my books. Sometimes it’s as boring as a muni pass or a receipt for the book I’ve found it in. Sometimes it’s something more, something I’d long forgotten, something that reminds me of who I used to be, and who I used to want to be.
This project is really fun but sometimes it’s a bit sad. It reminds me of things I’d forgotten, things I meant to forget. I’m not referring to this particular entry, just this project in general. We store things away to hide them because we can’t throw them out and yet we don’t want to see them anymore. And one day we find them and all those emotions reappear just as that item has.