Photograph.

Source: womenreading.tumblr.com

Have you ever had a fleeting moment where you looked at a something and idealized everything that it symbolizes? Even though I identify a large part of myself with my book collection, I've never been one to romanticize the act of reading. Bookworms are not elitists, though many try to convince you otherwise. It's a preference. It's a gravitation towards a structured world of words. You either like it or you don't and you're still human either way. At least, that's how I see it.

I try not to associate fulfillment with materialistic possessions, either. So I was really taken aback when I looked at this picture -which isn't all that special once you start to dissect it pixel by pixel- and started to feel a sharp ache.

In that split second, I wanted the wicket chair covered in a Navajo inspired blanket. I wanted the russet brick house with a lancet arched entrance and a willow tree weeping beautiful olive-coloured leaves on my lawn. I can already imagine myself crazily reenacting 'Singing in the Rain' around that lamp post. I can already see the kind of books I'd read there.

I know all too well the dangers of methodically planning out a future. No matter how much you try to hold the reins, things never turn out the way you want them to. It might be the New Year goggles -it could be this need to fill a void that I've kept under wraps for the last 12 months- but my pictured future (if there is even a picture at all) looks a lot like this one.


Good night, 2011.