reading

As the chilled breath of winter seeps into the train carriage, swiping its icy fingers across passengers huddled in their winter gear, I am reminded sharply of the pleasures derived from simple, homely hobbies. Looking past the frosty window, watching life hurriedly move by in a flurry of white and grey, evokes a yearning for the comfort of familiarity.

Crocheting has always been a delightful diversion for me, a respite from the icy grip of winter. I am amazed at how a spool of wool and a hook can create tangible beauty out of thin air. Warm scarves, colorful beanies, or intricate doilies... all therapeutic forms of creation. Each stitch weaves not just the fabric but also a sense of calmness within me, a serenity that shields me from the piercing cold.

Reading, on the other hand, requires nor demands anything of me but to get lost. A worn, much-loved book in hand, the smell of old paper transporting me to a different realm, away from the bleak winter and the mundane reality of commute. I dive into its depths, pushed by waves of words, until I drown. Engulfed in its embrace, I feel the pain of fictional lives, experiencing frissons of emotions as my heart syncs itself with their ephemeral existence.

Today, however, the melancholic melody of winter is peppered with stabbing pain. The bleakness outside echoes the darkness spreading across our world, intensified by the news I just read. The frosty window paints a mirror reflection of the froth of conflict, devastation, and loss. The joy I find in my snug hobbies seems insignificant and trivial against the backdrop of escalating violence, cries for ceasefires, and the clamor for humanity protection. Innocent lives caught in the calamitous crossfire, their safety stripped like bare trees in a merciless winter.

And yet, I hold on to my hobbies, not out of ignorance, but in defiance. I crochet, creating threads of hope that can perhaps, in some distant future, mend the torn fabric of our world. I read, immersing in stories of love and resilience, imagining them to be inked not just on paper but reality as well.

Yes, the winter is numbingly cold, the news disheartening, but the embers of hope and resilience in humanity are still bravely burning. We must keep them alive. We must never let this flame die, for its warmth is what will carry us through winter, through despair, through conflict, to the dawn of peace and understanding.

Tags: winter crocheting reading