When my brain came across this sentence, I kept thinking. Is this what I’m doing right now? My everyday life, am I surviving a reality that I had to face? Or was it just a clever assumption made upon a regretful decision? I have no idea.
I read a lot of fictions, especially one with related to real-life events. A friend once asked me why do I am so eager when it comes to book? I don’t remember what answer I gave to her at that time, but if she asked me now, I think I have a better version of an answer.
When I read fiction, I read it whole-heartedly. I imagine myself being one of the character, or even the main narrator. I imagine myself walking through the road my narrator brought me to. And from there, I found my happiness. I feel much comfortable being buried with my book, because there, no one will hurt me. No one can. I don’t have worries, and I just read and continue reading until the end of the book. From here, I realized that one of the reasons I was being so fascinated with books (fictions, not textbooks of cos!) is because, by reading them, I feel like I was being drifted miles away from my reality. And it gives me joy, which real life has never been able to.
But I cannot lie to myself. Hate it or not, reality is the space given to us in this life. So, what do we do when we need to be in a place we never want to be? We survive through it. We were all surviving the reality that has so many colors and so many dramas.
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