Just finished The Goldfinch (Het Puttertje) of Donna Tart. Great novel. Same level for me as Narziss und Goldmund from Hermann Hesse.
I always become sad when I read the story of someones (and others) life in one week time. So much repeating, so much monotony, even in very eventfull lifes. Long time ago it was a relief for me that life had no meaning. It makes me uneasy now.
The past two weeks I miraculously succeeded in living in the here and now. Today I find it kind of hard. Do I really need that e-reader? I'm buying too much stuff lately. And why do people do what they do, everyday and everyday? Very rich people go to galeries, expensive restaurants, sometimes donate money, use drugs. Poor people try to survive, find a sleeping place for the night, sometimes steal money, use drugs.
I once gave money to a beggar who asked one euro for a cup of coffee. The man sitting next to me became angry and said: "you shouldn't do that; all he's gonna buy is alcohol". I reacted to my own suprise furiously: "Fuck you; that man could have been you. It's a thin line between good and bad luck. So what if he's gonna buy alcohol? It might light up his miserable life a bit."
I try not to judge, but I do so almost everyday.
For example: I found it very hard to feel any sympathy for the father of Theo, the main character in The Goldfinch. But his friend Boris let me see that there is no such thing as only good or only wrong. And it touches me that Boris is the one person in the book without any fear (something that is imposible to understand for me) and that Theo is the one full of fear.