A Diary Trilogy: Bridge
We stopped at a shopping mall after to get Mom a gift. After sharing the effort, Mom went home with a beautiful necklace and earrings set of blue stone. Then, we split up, left to our own comfort and leisure time, and so it finally happened that after a long year of lockdown, I went with my dad to my favourite bookstore to look for a series of books I had my eye on. The simple act of being in that place, talking to the person working there, asking her if she had the books and trading stories with her about how we ‘discovered the author, was all so invigorating to the point that I was aware how I was behaving less shyly than before. There, on that bookshelf, were three books by the author, and without hesitation, I grabbed them all to buy.
A writer with a strange pen-name is always something that catches attention. A while back, maybe shortly before the pandemic, I discovered an Israeli writer on Instagram. Due to a promise I made myself a long time ago never to read translated works again, I was encouraged to read through his posts. It was time I read more Hebrew literature, anyway. His short posts were mainly thoughts and moments captured poetically in order to provoke an experience. I liked his words. I liked the interpretation behind the words, what they tried to capture and inspire. Then, I came across a post that promoted his first novel. The excerpt simply enchanted me and I was determined. When I saw that all of his books were available for purchasing in any branch, that’s when I set the goal to go out and get them the first chance I got. I wasn’t going to order them online. That would ruin the experience I planned to make of it.
I was giddy and happy for the rest of the night, occasionally taking out the first book and sneaking in a few peeks. There was the temptation to start reading when I found myself the only one not on my phone when the four of us sat down in a café. Such a book, though, I knew, needed more quiet than that. And I will admit, I was starving for a good book binge, but when I finally got home and sat at my desk to open it properly, I read the introduction that presented a suggestion; to please give this book the time it requires—often we find ourselves regretting letting memories slip away quickly without engraving them better in our minds, without letting them settle, without cherishing them. It was a heartfelt suggestion that seemed obvious at first glance. It was when I started reading, the first piece, the second, third… the first proper short story… that I understood where that suggestion came from.