I love to read. I love that feeling when a book opens on my lap and, at the same time, a new world opens up. A “not-so-secret passage” into the writer’s head.
And then I become an observer, a participant, and almost an accomplice in someone else’s thoughts.
But long before I loved to read… I couldn’t sleep.
When I was a kid, I would go to bed at the time my mom sent me, without saying a word. Shortly after, I would need to go to the bathroom. Then the dark would bother me. Suddenly it would be unbearably hot. I’d be hungry. Then the light would bother me. Then, of course, I’d be sick and shivering from the cold—so by the time I was done with all that, I would be back again, needing to go to the bathroom. Falling asleep felt impossible.
Just before my already nervous mother finally decided to give me away, as a last chance, she complained to a friend who—perhaps hoping it would make me fall asleep faster—suggested she give me a bedtime book.
And that basically solved my sleeping problem. Not in the expected way (that I would actually fall asleep), but I filled all those restless hours with fun and reading until two in the morning.
After reading the Harry Potter books and earning myopia, I discovered something thrilling: there was more where that came from.
So I went to the library, it quickly became a regular stop in my life.
Many, many years later, still an avid reader, I noticed a collection of short stories on a shelf titled Suddenly Someone Knocks. The first story won me over instantly, and the rest only cemented my stubborn devotion. Almost everyone I know has, at some point in their life, been forced by me to read at least one Etgar Keret story.
His stories are strange. They always leave me with the feeling that they mean something—some unquestionable truth—and at the same time, the nagging sense that I’m missing something important.
So you can imagine my excitement when, quite by chance, I heard on TV that Mr. Keret was coming to my city (Zagreb) and would be signing books in the main square the next day. Of course I showed up.
The night before, I rehearsed what I was going to say. I wanted to ask for two things:
1. an unusual inscription in one of his books, like the characters in one of his stories in Seven Good Years, 2. a character in one of his stories to be named after me
I practiced my little speech again and again.
The next day, when I arrived at the square, I shakily made my way toward the platform while my cousin took pictures of me and immortalized my nervousness. I did manage to get a weird inscription.
But I didn’t ask for the character.
It suddenly felt presumptuous—to change or influence the name of something that was so dear to me. I decided to be selfless, and I’ve regretted it ever since.
Still, just like in life you sometimes receive undeserved luck—naturally beautiful curly hair, or a straight nose—I continue to hope that one day I’ll get a story with my name in it.
This week I learned what panic is. I spent many hours accompanying my granddaughter at Tel Hashomer hospital. I suddenly remembered I had forgotten my charger. Generally, those places have stands to charge your phone. They were out of order. My phone was at 45%.. that’s when I panicked. Next to the coffee shop, I saw a stand with some electronics. Luckily, there was something for me. And I learned what relief is.
Makes me think of my childhood - those quiet days, hanging around outside, the other kids in the street, a bit of tv, but not much. We had no idea of what was to come - which is amazing in so many ways, but it does take your brain somewhere else entirely...
At least you have the experience of knowing life without - as do I - and can chose it occasionally or have it thrust upon us. It throws into stark relief what it is for those who may have never known the difference. Thanks for the reminder.
For some strange reason your story reminded me of a once a week without your car. This was years ago and had something to do with saving petrol . People could choose the day they give up the comfort of using their car. It was a big deal back in those days. Although so small , not really bigger than the palm of your hand, the cellphone is incomparable to a car. With your cellphone you can fly to the moon , get a glimpse into the future and connect with the dead. This small item holds our life, needs and comfort and when it’s gone we hardly recognize ourselves. But it is sad, we forgot how to stare and reflect on ideas or memories, to be bored and appreciate the blankness inside our head. We forgot how to be with ourselves and just relax. Yes, it is sad.
Excellent ! Thank you
I love to read. I love that feeling when a book opens on my lap and, at the same time, a new world opens up. A “not-so-secret passage” into the writer’s head.
And then I become an observer, a participant, and almost an accomplice in someone else’s thoughts.
But long before I loved to read… I couldn’t sleep.
When I was a kid, I would go to bed at the time my mom sent me, without saying a word. Shortly after, I would need to go to the bathroom. Then the dark would bother me. Suddenly it would be unbearably hot. I’d be hungry. Then the light would bother me. Then, of course, I’d be sick and shivering from the cold—so by the time I was done with all that, I would be back again, needing to go to the bathroom. Falling asleep felt impossible.
Just before my already nervous mother finally decided to give me away, as a last chance, she complained to a friend who—perhaps hoping it would make me fall asleep faster—suggested she give me a bedtime book.
And that basically solved my sleeping problem. Not in the expected way (that I would actually fall asleep), but I filled all those restless hours with fun and reading until two in the morning.
After reading the Harry Potter books and earning myopia, I discovered something thrilling: there was more where that came from.
So I went to the library, it quickly became a regular stop in my life.
Many, many years later, still an avid reader, I noticed a collection of short stories on a shelf titled Suddenly Someone Knocks. The first story won me over instantly, and the rest only cemented my stubborn devotion. Almost everyone I know has, at some point in their life, been forced by me to read at least one Etgar Keret story.
His stories are strange. They always leave me with the feeling that they mean something—some unquestionable truth—and at the same time, the nagging sense that I’m missing something important.
So you can imagine my excitement when, quite by chance, I heard on TV that Mr. Keret was coming to my city (Zagreb) and would be signing books in the main square the next day. Of course I showed up.
The night before, I rehearsed what I was going to say. I wanted to ask for two things:
1. an unusual inscription in one of his books, like the characters in one of his stories in Seven Good Years, 2. a character in one of his stories to be named after me
I practiced my little speech again and again.
The next day, when I arrived at the square, I shakily made my way toward the platform while my cousin took pictures of me and immortalized my nervousness. I did manage to get a weird inscription.
But I didn’t ask for the character.
It suddenly felt presumptuous—to change or influence the name of something that was so dear to me. I decided to be selfless, and I’ve regretted it ever since.
Still, just like in life you sometimes receive undeserved luck—naturally beautiful curly hair, or a straight nose—I continue to hope that one day I’ll get a story with my name in it.
This week I learned what panic is. I spent many hours accompanying my granddaughter at Tel Hashomer hospital. I suddenly remembered I had forgotten my charger. Generally, those places have stands to charge your phone. They were out of order. My phone was at 45%.. that’s when I panicked. Next to the coffee shop, I saw a stand with some electronics. Luckily, there was something for me. And I learned what relief is.
Makes me think of my childhood - those quiet days, hanging around outside, the other kids in the street, a bit of tv, but not much. We had no idea of what was to come - which is amazing in so many ways, but it does take your brain somewhere else entirely...
At least you have the experience of knowing life without - as do I - and can chose it occasionally or have it thrust upon us. It throws into stark relief what it is for those who may have never known the difference. Thanks for the reminder.
Your subconscious may know the right moment to forget your phone, but your other subconscious--you know the one--will say, not so fast, buddy.
For some strange reason your story reminded me of a once a week without your car. This was years ago and had something to do with saving petrol . People could choose the day they give up the comfort of using their car. It was a big deal back in those days. Although so small , not really bigger than the palm of your hand, the cellphone is incomparable to a car. With your cellphone you can fly to the moon , get a glimpse into the future and connect with the dead. This small item holds our life, needs and comfort and when it’s gone we hardly recognize ourselves. But it is sad, we forgot how to stare and reflect on ideas or memories, to be bored and appreciate the blankness inside our head. We forgot how to be with ourselves and just relax. Yes, it is sad.
I know that I am gonna miss it more than that some people with I work.
One question, do you think the phone missed you🤔? I know I do🙋🏻♀️.