pardon my french.

300 pages of the tale of a lost love imbued with philosophy of love and marriage. A beautiful opening about the journey to Ithaca. A concept of male-female relationship which I daresay, I would agree completely. But the ending, yes, the ending, completely changed my view. Only 1 sentence, 1 friggin’ sentence, which completely turns my mood off.

I think Paulo Coelho would smile to me and say,

“But you don’t get it, that is what the journey to Ithaca means. That is what the book wanted to tell you”

Aaah, phooey Mr.Coelho, phooey.

The bottom line, The Zahir is a story of a famous novelist who were searching for his lost wife. The novelist then embarked on a journey to find himself and the meaning of love, because he believed only by doing so, he will also find her. In the end, he finished his journey only to find that the Zahir, his ideal, his reason, his role-model on the whole journey of love and self-finding, is pregnant with another man. And that wasn’t the only man in her life.

No. No. No.

I just don’t get it, and I would probably never get it. Probably that is what Ithaca means, there is nothing you can found there. But found nothing is far far better than finding your wife is pregnant with someone else. Yet you will still love her? Maybe that’s what the ideal love should be. Transcending far beyond common sense. If this is the case, I am afraid I won’t be an ideal lover. I care too much about the other person’s feeling to be pregnant with someone else while I am still married!

To my naive eyes, the Zahir is simply a coward. A coward who can sense that the love between her husband and herself slowly fades away. Instead of owning up to it, she ran away. Without notes, without goodbye. Leaving her husband in a state of chaos.

Let me say it again, She.ran.away. She is just too scared to own up to it.

Here is the part where, I stomped my feet impatiently. Where I have the courage to blurted out, what a slut. The stomping has awakened the tiny voice in me, which in return whispered mockingly to me,

aaaahh…but i thought you knew how she felt. i thought you said you’ve been in her shoes.

Oh I did. I can assure you, I did.

doesn’t that make you a slut as well?

BAH! Maybe I am! but at least I was owning up to it. I was leaving with words and goodbye. At least I didn’t ran away.

oh..but you wanted to. And someone stopped you.

I froze. A piece of conversation echoed in my memory,

y: Why would you ran away? It’s the same as breaking up, except that you have an extra burden of relocating

me: LOL

y: I am dead serious

Let me close this discontent with a thought of love. After a few years love will go away, or it will transform into something else, or maturing. The passion will slowly fades away and all is left is a comforting feeling that you have someone with you. In the end, Love will turn to security, as passion turns to comfort.

Given comfort and security, would you, then, still yearn for the excitement, the giggles and the warm feeling of “falling in love”?