Introduction: I've never been good at New Year's Resolutions but I do have goals I want to achieve, things I'd like to do before I die, that kind of stuff. So I've decided to write them down...maybe having them in black-and-white (I wonder how appropriate that particular figure of speech still is with the advent of blogs...in any case I'm currently too lazy to think of a wittier, more appropriate one) is that small nudge I need so that i can finally get around to doing them, and not just talk about them, you know?
Goal #1
This is from Alex Garland's "The Beach", which I love to read over and over again. The narrator is Richard, a young English bloke (haha I've always wanted to use that) - I particularly would like to mention that when I read the book I imagine him as a guy more like Alex Garland and not Leo DiCaprio, because somehow it fits better that way. So anyway, this part is before they actually reach "The Beach", and he's with a young French couple, Etienne and Francoise.
[Francoise] "Will you come for a swim?"
I pointed at the chest-deep water, shoulder-deep for Francoise. "We are swimming, aren't we?"
"No," said Etienne, finally looking up. "She means a swim." He gestured to the open sea. "Out there."
We played a game as we swam out. Every thirty feet we would each dive to the bottom and return with a handful of sand.
I found the game strangely unpleasant. A meter below the surface, the warmth of the tropical sea would turn cold, so abruptly that by treading water one could pinpoint the dividing line. Divind down, the chill would start at the fingertips, then swiftly envelop the length of the body.
The further we swam, the blacker and finer the sand became. Soon the water at the bottom became too dark for me to see in, and I could only kick out blindly with my legs, arms outstretched, until my hands sank into the silt.
..."How far out do we go?" I said when the sunbathers ont eh beach behind us had turned into ants.
Etienne smiled. "You would like to go back now? Are you tired? We can go back."
Francoise held up her hand clear of the water and unclenched her fingers. A lump of sand rolled out and dropped into the sea, where it sank, leaving a cloudy trail behind. "You are tired, Richard?" she said, eyebrows arched.
"I'm fine," I replied. "Let's swim further."
Cool eh? Every time I'm at the beach I've always been afraid to venture out into the open sea. I've swam considerably far away from the shore but not far enough, I think. I really wanna push it, you know? Go as far as I can. This actually reminds me of a scene in Gattaca as well, the one with Ethan Hawke's character and his brother. Hmmm...I wonder if it's humanly possible though.
Goal #1
This is from Alex Garland's "The Beach", which I love to read over and over again. The narrator is Richard, a young English bloke (haha I've always wanted to use that) - I particularly would like to mention that when I read the book I imagine him as a guy more like Alex Garland and not Leo DiCaprio, because somehow it fits better that way. So anyway, this part is before they actually reach "The Beach", and he's with a young French couple, Etienne and Francoise.
[Francoise] "Will you come for a swim?"
I pointed at the chest-deep water, shoulder-deep for Francoise. "We are swimming, aren't we?"
"No," said Etienne, finally looking up. "She means a swim." He gestured to the open sea. "Out there."
We played a game as we swam out. Every thirty feet we would each dive to the bottom and return with a handful of sand.
I found the game strangely unpleasant. A meter below the surface, the warmth of the tropical sea would turn cold, so abruptly that by treading water one could pinpoint the dividing line. Divind down, the chill would start at the fingertips, then swiftly envelop the length of the body.
The further we swam, the blacker and finer the sand became. Soon the water at the bottom became too dark for me to see in, and I could only kick out blindly with my legs, arms outstretched, until my hands sank into the silt.
..."How far out do we go?" I said when the sunbathers ont eh beach behind us had turned into ants.
Etienne smiled. "You would like to go back now? Are you tired? We can go back."
Francoise held up her hand clear of the water and unclenched her fingers. A lump of sand rolled out and dropped into the sea, where it sank, leaving a cloudy trail behind. "You are tired, Richard?" she said, eyebrows arched.
"I'm fine," I replied. "Let's swim further."
Cool eh? Every time I'm at the beach I've always been afraid to venture out into the open sea. I've swam considerably far away from the shore but not far enough, I think. I really wanna push it, you know? Go as far as I can. This actually reminds me of a scene in Gattaca as well, the one with Ethan Hawke's character and his brother. Hmmm...I wonder if it's humanly possible though.
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