"Love, my child, is a thing that every mother learns; it is not born with a baby, but made."
(Amina Sinai to her "son" Saleem, from Salman Rushdie's Midnight's Children)
let me write. i haven't been lately. at least things i keep telling myself to. perhaps b/c this journal is coming to an end. i like this journal. anyway... all good things... AND the end of one thing signals the start of another. but let me write.
i've been reading Midnight's Children. good book. have i written about it yet? Rushdie has quite a style: rich vocab, colorful language, vivid imagery, imaginative character development... and a wonderfully intricate plot to tie it all together. reminds me of The God of Small Things [or is it the other way around?]... a lot. still, Rushdie is pompous. i'm probably biased. the vocab and the references... all over the place. he's obviously well-read, and he flaunts it. but i suppose he can't be blamed for that.
there are a couple of references to religion/faith/Islam. with his characters reflecting that same doubt in the religion that they were raised in. unsure of what is a worse fate, to believe in God or not to believe. culturally Muslim, intellectually agnostic... i should say culturally Indian. b/c Rushdie refers to both Hindu and Muslim myth/history as equally as each other. anyway... i hope to finish this book before school commences, insah'Allah.