The Shadow of the Wind by Carlos Luis Zafon

WHAT A READ! And, may I add, what mastery of the english language! I would give anything just to be able to write like that. This book is filled with wondrous phrases, punctuated with imperious images of the city of Barcelona, adorned with mystery, laced with romance, brimming with affection, love, yet poisoned by death and tragedy. I've never been so impressed by a book's qualities, and how I'd regret it if I hadn't chanced upon this delightful gem in one corner of the library!

The author's mastery lies in his expressive language, which is showcased in his descriptions. Yet the novel is not overly cluttered with obtrusive and redundant phrases, but rather, the writer has managed to intertwine many potentially confusing aspects of the story and weave a delicate portrait of the city at the same time. The diction used is not repetitive, but creative and succinct. I can't believe I've fallen for the brilliance of the novel!

A reef of clouds and lightning raced across the skies from the sea. I looked up and saw the storm spilling like rivers of blackened blood from between the clouds, blotting out the moon and covering the roofs and facades of the city in darkness. The night became opaque, impenetrable, as the rain folded the city in its shroud.

That year, autumn blanketed Barcelona with fallen leaves that rippled through the streets like silvery scales.

It was a magnificent day; the skies were electric blue, and a crystal breeze carried the cool scent of autumn and the sea.

A cold, slashing breeze swept the streets, scattering strips of mist in its path. The steely sun snatched copper reflections from the roofs and belfries of the Gothic Quarter.

We walked through the streets of a Barcelona trapped beneath ashen skies as dawn poured over Rambla de Santa Monica in a wreath of liquid copper.

Dusk fell almost surreptitiously, with a cold breeze and a mantle of purple light that slid between the gaps in the streets. The leaves on the orange trees in the cloister shimmered with tears of silver, and the sound of the fountain wove its way through the arches.

A veil of dark red clouds bled across the sky, punctured by splinters of light the colour of fallen leaves.

She was draped in a diaphanous (so thin as to transmit light) turquoise-blue cotton dress.

palatial (bookshop) - suitable for, or like a palace, impressive

ephemeral (the ephemeral joys of childhood) - fugacious, transcient, short-lived

coterie - an exclusive circle of people with a common purpose

decrepitude - a state of deterioration due to old age or long use, dilapidation

verbosity - an expressive style that uses excessive words

inscrutable - of an obscure nature

oratory - speech, address

proffered - offered

boudoir - a lady's bedroom or private sitting room

lugubrious (abode) - sorrowful, mournful

baroque (fantasy) - having elaborate symmetrical ornamentation

salubrious (nature) - healthy

salacious (echo) - lustful, prurient, lewd

serenade - a musical composition in several movements; has no fixed form

flatulence - pompously embellished language

foppish (attire) - affecting extreme elegance in dress and manner

monocle - eyeglass

denouement - resolution, outcome

Unhurried Thoughts at My Funeral by Catherine Lim

"The unquestioned life is not worth living." - Socrates

Perhaps, Einstein's inspired observation that "God does not play dice with the world" means that God's plan of purpose, order and meaning for the world rules out not only the disorderliness of randomness and chance but also all forms of human frivolity, including the frivolity of laughter.

Death does not discriminate between nations - neither rich nor poor, old nor young, neither liberal nor conservative, Asian nor Western.

Creme de la creme - a distant memory;
Now very much the meaningless pawn,
Browbeaten by Kings and Queens
Which dominate the checkered chess board.

Erosion of the cognitive mind -
Painstakingly built;
Conscientiously preserved;
Inevitably shattered;
Who bears the guilt?

Indoctrination of an unblemished psyche,
Infiltration of a civilized soul.
Compelled to comply with
This subservience, this obedience -
Reluctantly required for the eventual futility
Of safeguarding a little red dot.

My ship is sinking, regrettably.
I nestle my nose against a porthole.
Imminent darkening of a morose turquoise
Smashing against the scratched glass,
Reminiscent of the bottomless abyss
Buried within this withered soul.

Dear Son,

I just know that you are the best. What more can a mother expect of a son who has done brilliantly throughout his years of education? It shows. You couldn't have gotten a better score. You have already hit the ceiling and it could never have been better than that. You have shown in your application that you have already given your best and that you wished to embark on a career which appealed strongly to you. Whatever the outcome, son, I will still be proud of you. I am confident that whatever career you finally choose, or whatever comes to you, you will treasure it dearly and do your very best. I know that you will not let us down.

Love, Mum

I have to admit that this note touched my heart deeply and nearly led to an avalanche of tears when I read it for the first time. It was then that I decided to keep this note in a computerised form, where, unlike the physical form, is usually stored permanently and securely. This is the best form of encouragement any mother could give her son, because it has instilled in me a renewed vigour and belief to carry on fighting for my dreams; to give my best in everything I do.

I feel so fortunate to have the greatest parents in the world. They are simply amazing! :)