my book people

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i'm the kind of person who understands people in books wayyy more than people in real life. but i'm not that typical kind that is an introvert, shy to speak. i'm loud; noisy, to say the least. i enjoy public speaking, performing in skits, and speaking to new people. strangely, though, i find myself identifying more with the people in books. they're my kindred spirits; people i've never seen, but always known. recently, i've been having a trying time, but books just whisk me away to another world. and the book people, it's like they identify with exactly how i feel. it's like they are me. you know the feeling when people don't understand you, and you don't try very hard to understand them back? i'm a little like that. i must say, though, i have some precious friends are exactly like the book people. they understand. and i've some other friends who just make me laugh and don't expect me to say anything in return. they're amazing. just like the book people. sometimes, i even dream up my very own book people. someday perhaps i'll share them with you lovelies.

i've found a book person unlike one i've never had before. i've not used to having an old, dying man as one of my book people, but (surprisingly/shockingly/astonishingly) yes, i do. as of yesterday night.

maybe some background would help. i was feeling terrible that night. nothing (and when i say nothing, i mean literally nothing) was going right. and i had to clean a pile of dishes and take out the trash, while the little sibs (amazing at times, not so at others) were cleaning the table way too slow for my liking. you know those days. naturally, i was feeling m.i.s.e.r.a.b.l.e. it was then that i found him.

his name, is ivan ilych. he is the main character in leo tolstoy's the death of ivan ilych. i know, he was a dying, grumpy, old man. grouchy, bad-tempered, ready to bite anyone and anything, with his health in bad shape. and i was like, minus out the dying and sick part--that's me. so that's how i got to know him. he hated everyone because he saw them all as liars. they were simply trying to make him feel better and tell him lies about his health condition. he knew they all wanted him dead a.s.a.p. because he was becoming burdensome and he simply hated that hypocritical-ness.

but he meets this other young man who comes to care for him. gerasim, he's called. he was immediately added to my family of book people. he's bubbling with life. he's honest, frank, and joy simply exudes out of him. ivan ilych enjoys his presence immensely, and when gerasim leaves, both ivan and i felt an extreme sense of regret and sadness. gerasim brought with him something that exuded even through the words and into my self. joy. he cheered ivan ilych and me up. and some people might find that strange that i can be so affected by a book like that. but i do, and i am. ivan learns to let bitterness and hate go, and dies happy and peaceful. the story was beautiful. although tolstoy didn't talk much about gerasim after that brief chapter, well, i believe that he impacted ivan. and me as well.

so go. even if you identify perfectly fine with real people, go find some book people to meet. or make up your own if you're good at writing. because sometimes, God uses them to bring joy to your day.

joy will come in the morning || ♥