minalisms

Hello, my name is Minal, and I’m an addict. One who has become dependent on, what one friend so aptly described as, literary crack.

So. “Twilight!”

Who’s with me here? Who else shares in my nerdiness over this four-part fantasy-romance series? Who else understands my delusional love for Edward Cullen — who is neither McDreamy nor McSteamy but McVampy? Who else wants to one day visit the breathtaking forests near Forks, Wash.? Who else sacrifices sleep for page after page of mediocrity that, as a collective, is something so shockingly excellent?!

I’ll tell you who: my co-workers — ages 25, 59, 32 — who have regular powwows with me to gush about the progress of the plot; my dear husband, who checks in, eager to follow my hour-long paraphrase of the saga; and my sister-in-law, who got this whole damn addiction started.

I swear it’s a treat. You should read it, too.

Then call me.

I’ve started reading books again. I recently emerged from a span of eight or nine years when I didn’t want, didn’t care to read for pleasure. I have been ashamed of that period; it made me feel stupid, shallow.

But I’m back at it, and it’s gems like the following (from Elizabeth Gilbert’s “Eat, Pray, Love”) that remind me why I must read:

It is merely this world that is chaotic, bringing changes to us all that nobody could have anticipated. The Augusteum warns me not to get attached to any obsolete ideas about who I am, what I represent, whom I belong to, or what function I may once have intended to serve. Yesterday I might have been a glorious monument to somebody, true enough — but tomorrow I could be a fireworks depository. Even in the Eternal City, says the silent Augusteum, one must always be prepared for riotous and endless waves of transformation.”