Chapter 4

“I was.”

I thought she was quick to answer the question.

“Past tense. Have you published any books?”

“I had.”

“Not anymore?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

She was silent once more. Instead of diversion, she chose to remain silent when there are things she does not want to say. I like to think she has a lot to say but because it’s like that, she refused to say a word.

“Why?” I asked again.

Her silence continued to emit a feeling of intrusion. I thought it was right for her to feel that.

I was an intrusion.

Not only in her house, but now in her mind.

“I am curious. I want to know.”

“No one wanted to read what I write anymore.”

“Why?”

“Because they think I have gone crazy.”

“Why?”

Her silence continued to push me away but that silence only drew me nearer.

“I wish to understand you if you don’t mind.”

“Are you a psychiatrist?”

“I am not, just a curious cat.”

I meant it when I said that. I am truly curious about her for she is different from the people I have met. I like to believe we are all different but there are still things that are common among us, but she is a different kind of different. She is not from the same hierarchy, not from the same tree.

She stood up and took some books from her shelf. She sat beside me and handed the books to me. I guessed this is where I can find the answer to my question. I am not a reader. Reading never interests me at all. It is clear though that I will never get an answer from her.

She continued scribbling again.

I began reading her works. What she has written is beautiful, alive. It was completely opposite of the her now. The pages of the book took me to a world where hope does not die because of pain but collides with it and continues to burn.

The protagonists are realists with vague ideals that seem to go against the world right now. The ideals are not spoken well in the plot but their glints are everywhere in the book.

I thought maybe she shared the same ideals. Afterall, a piece of ourselves will always be present in the things that we do; like there is an invisible string that cannot be cut.

“Can I be more intrusive?”

“Aren’t you one already?”

“I am and I apologize. So can I?”

“In what way?”

“Can I stay here whenever I want to?”

“No.”

“I will do your chores. I will be your errand boy.”

“I won’t pay you if that’s what you are thinking.”

“It’s not that. I like to get to know you.”

“Suit yourself.”

I continued reading her works. She only gave me 2 thin books I can quickly finish reading. I am beginning to see the differences between the two. No, the differences are clear and very intriguing.

Just as the first book is alive, the second book is dying. That is what people who read for the sake of doing it will initially think but the books are not different from each other. They are connected with each other. The hints of vague ideals in the first book were now completely revealed in the second book.

It is not that she got crazy. Her way of thinking and her emotions may have affected what she has written. It is not that she is the sea, but her mind and her heart are.

There are myriad of maelstroms inside her.

Incomprehensible yet very fascinating.

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