A tale of my favourite book
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My favourite book of all times is one I rarely speak of.
Not because it is crass, crude, overly political or insane but because I often feel strange when I mention its name and receive only blank stares. I cannot judge anyone for not reading this book as it is a play and we all can agree that those are annoying to read.
In addition, the plot is weirdly unusual and has an effect on one’s mind which is similar to that of hot tar on road surfaces. Nonetheless, I love this book with all its uncertainties, ambiguities and ridiculousness.
In my mind, a book club could spend months on end debating the meaning of this play. Many bottles of wine and countless hours of time later, and no one could say with absolute certainty what Samuel Beckett intended with the characters or why he chose to write a story that plays with the mind in a way that this one does.
But, I digress from what I intended to share today. As a middle-aged woman I have found the need to now pay closer attention to my skin as ageing has not been kind. This has led me on a quest to find potions as well as gurus who have the best secrets, techniques and regimes to make my skin better.
One such quest led me a few weeks ago to a lovely woman with what I consider the charm and confidence which comes from certainty in one’s craft. When I entered this woman’s state of the art facial care hub, I noticed a painting of a tree which looks like one I stare at from my bedroom window.
I look out at it all the time as it reminds me of my favourite book.
A quick glance at the tree when I entered the spa soon left my mind but two hours later I opened my eyes from an almost comatose state of relaxation and saw a tattoo staring back at me.
My facial guru had what I consider the perfect artistic depiction of the tree from Waiting for Godot - A Tragicomedy in Two Acts. I controlled myself and quietly asked the meaning of the tattoo.
The response confirmed that it was a depiction of that tree around which my all-time favourite book centred. I could not help it; I almost physically jumped for joy off the bed. In return my facial guru expressed surprise and amazement that she had found another nutjob like herself.
We were baffled but felt like kindred spirits finding each other. Me, from the Caribbean and her from the Middle East. Together we immediately bonded over a book published in 1952, over sixty years ago.
I came home and shared the story with my husband and on social media and a few days later I started wondering why this chance meeting of two fans of an old book felt so significant to me.
Is it simply because it is an odd book to be someone’s favourite and then discovering there are two of you in tiny Kigali or is it something else?
Weeks later, I’m still not sure but there is a new desire to reread this masterpiece that was published before even my own mother was born.
P.S. My skin guru has given me a long term plan to counter the effects of life on my skin.
The writer is owner and operator of Forrest Jackson Properties, a real estate company based in Kigali, Rwanda