Day 307/308

4:30PM:

I have finally gotten to the end of my 17th book.  It took a couple of days of fatigue-filled forcefulness – forever fucking my retention – as opposed to literary-inspired love that kept me reading.  Likely, I will not remember the end.  However, very often, the end is not the most important part of the story.  Here are the rememberances that got bookmarked from The Tiger’s Wife by Tea Obreht (also the ONE recommended book from this journey that did not suck serious ass, excuse my less-than educated language), to assist in my retention of the most important parts:

“Magdalena was epileptic, and therefore restricted to small distances and small pleasures. … Darisa, seven years her junior, doted on her, adored everything she adored, and had grown up with the notion that her welfare was his obligation, his responsibility.  Standing in the hallway of their house, watching the footman carry his father’s valises out to the waiting carriage, Darisa would cling to the lapels of the engineer’s coat, and his father would say: ‘You’re a very small boy, but I am going to make you a gentleman.  Do you know how a small boy becomes a gentleman?’

‘How?’ Darisa would say, even though he already knew the answer.

‘With a task,’ his father said.  ‘With taking responsibility for others‘” (in keeping with the aforementioned comments, the page number has already been lost and forgotten).

  • It is not the act of being an adult that makes you capable – and in this current climate, ME – of being a Don.  It is the act of being a Don that makes you an adult.

“When your fight has purpose – to free you from something, to interfere on the behalf of an innocent – it has a hope of finality.  When the fight is about unraveling – when it is about your name, the places to which your blood is anchored, the attachment of your name to some landmark or event – there is nothing but hate, and the long, slow progression of people who feed on it and are fed it, meticulously, by the ones who come before them.  Then the fight is endless, and comes in waves and waves, but always retains its capacity to surprise those who hope against it” (283).

  • There is purpose in Tz’u.  There is purpose in being the dependable.  There is value in being the person upon which people depend.  I find value and purpose in being that person.  I find value and purpose in fighting that fight.  I find value and purpose in being Don.  That fight, that courageously caring fight, has purpose = Tz’u.  And therefore, that purpose and value and Tz’u will ALWAYS be tied to hope and love and faith and caring and belief in flying mother-fucking penguins that ride chipped unicorns into the darkest corners of the blackness and come out with black, bile-infested blood on their bayonets (there’s the alliteration again!).  That fight, our recovery fight, will forever-ever have purpose.
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