Thus the time has come for the Duck to grow a little bigger, that is in no way to say that she is alas emerging as any mythical swan of any beauteous kind, far from it, but that she has gotten sick of her small Duck pond. Namingly, the same ripples of stories that she has grown up with – her old books.
It is rather sad to clean out the bookshelf, close, but not as sad as the appearance of the overtaxed bookshelf itself. The Duck actually had this process delayed until she herself could no longer stand the fact that books were relegated to being strewn on the side of her room and atop her dresser table. It is time.
One of the hardest thing to go about this is not just that she is personally a vicious crow with guarding her books, but also that many of the younger teen ones, especially series collections were gifts from the Duck’s sister. Over the past two weeks I spent mopping round and re-reading the ones I have come to just benignly put aside in my mind. They are still great stories, but nowadays I recognize the humor and the style of writing, the way the authors would cut short a certain description and the way the story moves along at a steady pace towards an ultimate goal; or the repetitiveness of an action to be associated with the teens. They are writing catch phrases that once had me staying up into the wheeze minutes of the morning on a school night (true story), and now makes me feel humored on the inside. Maybe an occasional laugh, but I still see the silver lining. I even remember the exact book that I had gotten obsessed with, and reading it now, though it is still capturing, it is not the deep insightful profoundness that I want to slowly dissect in a book.
Was that far fetched? Has the Duck ever been so deep a creature herself? Pa-Ha.
Regardless though, the drama and the exaggerated speech is no longer suitable for me, and that makes me sort of sad that I can differentiate and name almost the exact elements the authors use to create the story.
Among the pile of old books, there’s also the collection of fan-girl vampire books which boomed alongside the werewolf parasite when the dundundun, Twilight became infamous. I am not proud to admit, but at that time, I was definitely one of the kids that wanted to embrace this new cultural obsession. I don’t even know what to say to you guys. Don’t abandon me quite yet.
When I expressed this to my friend, he told me to just imagine the joy I would be giving to another kid somewhere who thrifts like I do, and would be delighted to receive almost-brand-new books that has not been tarnished. Oh gush. Sweet son, why don’t you do me the favor of breaking the news to my sister. Particularly over and over again as she has a bad habit of just forgetting these unpleasantries.
In my defense though, I am keeping the series of faerie books that my sister went through the trouble of getting me multiple times, always for the next new piece. I guess my dream bookshelf (someday) can tolerate some of my old teenagery essence.
The last big hurdle to deal with is the largest collection of comic books of witches that I inherited from my cousin when she was done with them. I think she was even about my age when she gave them to me, and as I am the youngest line in my family, there is no one else to pass this along to. No doubt, my two younger boy cousins would just be devastated to not receive this. It’s a dilemma between saving these good old tricks for not-so-possible baby Ducklings (if you know my stories with children) and just giving them to good old kids now, who may or may not wreck 5 whole years of good care. Sigh. My good old friends, we had fun.
A secret confession: at my school library I found the continuous series of the old vampire books I had stopped collecting. I read those too.
Now you may abandon me.