It's been a few days since my last post, but I thought I ought to wait until something truly noteworthy happened to me. Like I've said in a previous post, I applied for the up-and-coming newspaper at my school. Today was the first meeting of the minds.
From the minute I sat around the conference table alongside some of my friends I knew this is what I wanted to do with my life. It's a strange thing to be overtaken by such a profound sense of dedication and certitude. To truly and honestly know what you want to do with the rest of your life is a gift that few people receive so when it strucks you, you can only feel elation and a certain sense of calmness.
So there I was, feeling pretty good about myself and already imagining my life ten years into the future when I would be sitting in a similar conference room and surrounded by bright minds and great writers all the while knowing that you're doing something you really love. The meeting itself functioned mainly as an introduction, names were exchanged, ideas, prospects and fun facts about one another. Arrangements were made to meet again next week and we were given the assignment - although that's not really what is was - to find out what it is that we wanted to do for the paper.
For me, it is important that I can write something, that I can express my ideas. Others preferred photography, which is fine by me since I have accepted the fact that I will probably never be an Annie Leibovitz or an Alfred Eisenstaedt. If I manage to take a picture without thumbs or other fingers in the shot and featuring a somewhat straight angle, I'm happy. Although I can absolutely appreciate a photograph and be mesmerized by it, I don't feel the need to try and imitate it as good as possible.
My heart will always belong to writing. They say that a picture is worth a thousand words, but I will always value those words more because that it just who I am.
That is also why I will always try to read a novel in its original language, simply because something always gets lost in translation. I want to be able to read the very words the author imagined, to read the very same sentence that he created, not the interpretation of someone else. Although I do admire the effort of the translator and I appreciate what he does, in my mind, he will never live up to the original. That being said, it is always possible that the translated text might in fact be better than the original text.
Since the subject of literature has been brought up, I might as well talk a little about the book that I'm reading at the moment: Bright shiny morning by James Frey. It's a novel about life in Los Angeles. It revolves around individuals, all from different backgrounds, different skin colour, different life goals and most importantly a different perspective on life. You have Maddie and Dylan, the blissfully happy young couple from somewhere in the Mid-West who have come to LA to start over, the celebrity couple with three adorable children, only the husband is a closeted gay man and the whole wedding turns out to be a publicity stunt / sham, you also have the story of Esperanza, a girl whose parents desperately wanted a different life for their daughter so they fled South America where they lived happily together, but Esperanza wants more out of life, but therefore she has to be willing to compromise.
I've only read the first 80 pages but already I find myself unable to put it down. Frey is able to captivate me with the enthralling lives of all of his characters and at the same time providing me with interesting "did you know" facts about the county of Los Angeles. I'll let you know what I think of the book just as soon as I've turned the final page.
But for now, Easter holiday approaching, I should get back to work. There are still a lot of summaries of courses to be made and lessons to be learned, so its back to the trenches for me.
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