(i can't) think.

"In the midst of hate, I found there was, within me, an invincible love.
In the midst of tears, I found there was, within me, an invincible smile.
In the midst of chaos, I found there was, within me, an invincible calm.
I realized, through it all, that…
In the midst of winter, I found there was, within me, an invincible summer.
And that makes me happy. For it says that no matter how hard the world pushes against me, within me, there’s something stronger – something better, pushing right back." 

- Albert Camus 

Came across this poignant quote yesterday while browsing, of all things, Instagram (#poignantquote). Had almost no control over my memory and musings as they transposed themselves halfway across the globe to recall my darling sister, as Berlin gives in helplessly to yet another harsh German winter much too soon. Neither is Singapore any better off at the moment - the heavens insolently empty their overflowing bladders, relieving themselves unceremoniously day after day on us miserable humans, no end to it in sight. Tears of angels, wrath of nature, an eternity of grey gloom. 

Well back to the point - the quote ought to inspire plenty more than this, but humans are indeed, by nature, superficial, no? What a pity that thinking hard can be so exhausting. In any case, its beauty struck me hard (on the head I believe, for it placed me under its comatose spell and before I knew it my legs had carried my weary body to the bookstore and back and on my desk lay Camus' The Sea Close By and The Stranger. And with it, an emptier pocket.) 

Was struck a second time upon essaying to read the first page of The Sea. "I grew up in the sea and poverty was sumptuous, then I lost the sea and found all luxuries grey and poverty unbearable." "Oh how beautiful," my mind concluded. Too tired to even attempt to comprehend. Irreverent me. 

Came to a conclusion for the second time in one day: today is certainly not a good day to begin on Camus. There will always be a tomorrow for that. Back to Proust before bedtime - back to warm and mellow images, to music-words, to cosmetic poetic beauty, deep-masked memory - good thinking can wait. 

More on Camus some other day. And so, off to dreamland.