Interviews:
I review for:
This reading response was originally written on July 24th, 2005, when I was living in Tokyo, Japan. A dear-yet-brief friend, Irfan, made a gift to me of this book before he left Tokyo to visit his family in Pakistan and then return to Canada. I read it sitting on trains, finished it in a rush perching on my futon. And then I posted this response to my blog.
I just finished reading The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho, and I'm not even sure where to begin talking about my feelings regarding this novel. It's a rich series of parables that speak to me... it's a book about life, and omens, and the heart, and people.
I'm sure I've mentioned this before, but I firmly believe that some books come into our lives exactly when we need them. That's very true of this book, and I thank Irfan for being the bearer.
I don't know what my life has planned out for me, but I know that it's always led me onward. It took me a long time to find the strength to leave Montgomery, but I always knew that it was exactly the right thing to do. Once outside Montgomery, however, lost and confused, I once more tried to give up on where my life is leading me:
"But I'm going back to the fields that I know, to take care of my flock again." He said that to himself with certainty, but he was no longer happy with his decision. He had worked for an entire year to make a dream come true, and that dream, minute by minute, was becoming less important. Maybe because that wasn't really his dream.
Who knows... maybe it's better to be like the crystal merchant: never go to Mecca, and just go through life wanting to do so, he thought, again trying to convince himself. But as he held Urim and Thummim in his hand, they had transmitted to him the strength and will of the old king. By coincidence-- or maybe it was an omen, the boy thought-- he came to the bar he had entered on his first day there. The thief wasn't there, and the owner brought him a cup of tea.
I can always go back to being a shepherd, the boy thought. I learned how to care for sheep, and I haven't forgotten how that's done. But maybe I'll never have another chance to get to the Pyramids in Egypt. The old man wore a breastplate of gold, and he knew about my past. He really was a king, a wise king.
The hills of Andalusia were only two hours away, but there was an entire desert between him and the Pyramids. Yet the boy felt that there was another way to regard his situation: he was actually two hours closer to his treasure... the fact that the two hours had stretched into an entire year didn't matter.
I know why I want to get back to my flock, he thought. I understand sheep; they're no longer a problem, and they can be good friends. On the other hand, I don't know if the desert can be a friend, and it's in the desert that I have to search for my treasure. If I don't find it, I can always go home. I finally have enough money, and all the time I need. Why not?
Just so. I do like Japan, and there are many fine and worthy things here that I admire and enjoy. I had some interest in Japan, or I never would have come here. But Japan, as far as I can tell right now, is not where I am to put down roots.
In fact, my life has been insisting on a rootless nomad's path for quite some time now. It's in the resistance that I become unhappy. And my fear of not pursuing the places I am interested in is the fear of disappointment (from others), the fear of harm (to my body), and the fear of the unknown.
Yet, perversely, I'm all about shattering my fears. It's a long time coming, but I've arrived and you guys have read me go on about breaking comfort zones often enough. I want to throw myself into the unknown, although I never manage to do so recklessly.
This is why I felt so happy when I abandoned the idea of settling into the soul-crushing grind I knew so well in Montgomery and instead embraced the idea of traveling as much as I want before figuring out how to get to the UK. I stopped fighting myself and trying to settle (again).
I know that one day I will want to return to my home, just as I know that my true home is among the people that I love. That's why I want my brothers and I all to settle somewhere near the same place one day.
"You will never be able to escape from your heart. So it's better to listen to what it has to say. That way, you'll never have to fear an unanticipated blow."
If I could ever remember this, I could save myself a lot of grief and my friend's a lot of exasperation. It's true, and I know it. I just sometimes willfully ignore it.
The boy continued to listen to his heart as they crossed the desert. He came to understand its dodges and tricks, and to accept it as it was. He lost his fear, and forgot about his need to go back to the oasis, because, one afternoon, his heart told him that it was happy. "Even though I complain sometimes," it said," it's because I'm the heart of a person and people's hearts are that way. People are afraid to pursue their most important dreams, because they feel that they don't deserve them, or that they'll be unable to achieve them. We, their hearts, become fearful just thinking of loved ones who go away forever, or of moments that could have been good but weren't, or of treasures that might have been found but were forever hidden in the sands. Because, when these things happen, we suffer terribly."
"My heart is afraid that it will have to suffer," the boy told the alchemist one night as they looked up at the moonless sky.
"Tell your heart that the fear of suffering is worse than the suffering itself. And that no heart has ever suffered when it goes in search of its dreams, because every second of the search is a second's encounter with God and with eternity."
Just as I've never felt lost in quite the same way anywhere else as I have in Tokyo, I don't think I've felt as fulfilled and forward-moving anywhere else either. I'm realizing my heart's desire, and that is truly the most potent spirit. Now to continue the journey...
N.B. The italicized quotes above are, of course, selections from The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho.