The Temporal Escape
Weeping willows rustle gently as they sway in the wind.
Bike bells chime.
Canal waters trickle.
This intricate polyphony is the soundscape that accompanied my morning stroll to the cafe I frequented during my two-week stay in Amsterdam-Oost.
As I wandered along the streets lined with iconic Jugendstil houses, their sculptural brick walls and large windows beckoned me to glance in. One time, I caught a glimpse of a lady savouring her morning coffee in quiet contentment. Another time, a child who was absorbed in his play with wooden blocks, momentarily looked up as I passed his window. Occasionally, a homeowner would look out of his window, and if our eyes met, we exchanged a silent greeting in the form of a smile. With each day that passed, this curious ritual became my strange new hobby. Perhaps my profession fuelled this fascination, this constant wonder about how others live — observing life in motion, framed by windows that reveal brief but intimate moments.
Apart from the tapestry of daily rituals that made up Amsterdam-Oost, how each house was fitted piqued my interest as well. The choice of furniture and objects varied greatly from window to window. Yet, most of these houses shared one thing in common – a bookshelf filled with books. This really stood out to me as I live in a city not particularly known for avid readers and where most abodes I’ve visited back home featured bookshelves adorned with decorative objects rather than reading material. On rare occasions, I would stumble upon a home with a floor-to-ceiling shelf brimming with volumes, but such moments are scarce, especially in a spatially challenged city where digital books are the preferred choice over physical ones. This observation of a bookshelf as a centerpiece in each Dutch home made me ponder the importance of books in my life, and on my reading journey thus far.
Since childhood, I was taught that reading was for educational purposes – for mastering the languages or skills we wished to attain. The idea of reading for pleasure never crossed my mind – I had no fairytales, Brothers Grimm, Dickens or Shakespeare growing up. It comes as no surprise that my modest, single-row bookshelf then was filled with non-fiction reads and work books – the faithful companions of my formal education. In time, those books that reminded me of the toil of studying, were given away or passed down – out of sight, out of mind. The shelf was cleared and ready to welcome the next set of books that would then help me get through the next phase of my education. Reading thus was a functional and mundane process that came with studying. I dreaded reading, and only did when required…
read the full piece in AbstractS – Issue One: Impermanence
Text and images by ANATOMY OF THINGS