.Buku cerita pun ada cerita nya sendiri.
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Yang ini datang kepada saya di Hari Raya baru ini. At the Taman Kledang Jaya Homestay where my family and I bertenggek. As I set my camp-bed right against the display cabinet between the living and the dining areas, my attention somehow was drawn to the nothing-much-ness of the display. Whatever there were in the display cabinet didn’t make much of a display, I must tell you. But this one old book was calling my name.
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After flipping through, skimming and scanning Ketulahan by Dharmala N.S. — published in 1990 and priced at $6.00 then (yes dollars!) — I made a mental summary that the book is written in the language of my thought. Well… I am not overly sure how to even describe that ‘language of my thought’ thought. But the words and the space in between… all flow swiftly like a rhythm that I have never heard before, but a song that I can sing along with, or sing to. If that is ever possible. Reading Ketulahan feels so much more bizarre than deja vu.
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Although I wanted so much to just lay down in bed all Raya and just read… with the family event and the long-distant driving, I knew I would be reading more road signs than reading the prelude of the book. And I was not going to enjoy humming along to the rhythm of the language of the book if I were to just read a page or two a day. So, guess what? I stole the book from the homestay!
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But I left RM10.00 as the rent for the book for a year. I will return the book to the homestay next Raya. I promise! (Please remind me about this, comes next Raya, okay?) So I am reading it now – like singing to the rhythm of the language of the book. Reading it, knowing that I stole it, has got me thinking. Reading a good book is a good thing. But stealing a good book with the intention like mine, is not. Regardless.
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I read. But I steal. But I pay. Or kind of.
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Jangan lah ketulahan hendaknya.
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Questa è Enida 