In Continuum.

The Great Gatsby

"...And as i sat there brooding on the old, unknown world, I thought of Gatsby's wonder when he first picked out the green light at the end of Daisy's dock.He had come a long way to this blue lawn, and his dream must have seemed so close that he could hardly fail to grasp it. He did not know that it was already behind him, somewhere back in that vast obscurity beyond the city, where the dark fields of the republic rolled on under the night.

Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that's no matter - tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms further... And one fine morning -

So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past..."

--- "The Great Gatsby" by F.Scott. Fitzgerald


I remember reading about this Fitzgerald guy somewhere in one of my books.They are overflowing on my cupboard,and i havent got place to put them by the way.That is definitely a problem i have to remedy soon,topping my list of things-to-do-when-im-free.Get a bloody cupboard from Ikea and get the books all arranged.

Anyway,as ive mentioned i remember reading about this Fitzgerald guy somewhere.I recall one of his passages being quoted in "The Time Traveler's Wife" by Audrey Niffenegger,but i wasnt sure.I loved the quotation,and upon reading about one of his works "The Great Gatsby",i jumped at the chance at buying it.

It turned out,that the guy from "The Time Traveler's Wife" is actually Robert Fitzgerald,while this guy is actually F.Scott Fitzgerald.Im not sure if they are in any way,related.Fitzgerald is not exactly a very common name,but it sure was a good bet to grab the book off the shelves at Kino.

I finished the book in less than two days,and it was an astounding experience for me.Great books relate,between characters and the readers,the way it transports you into those pages with mere words.This book did it for me,in the most unexpected way(especially after reading the snore inducing "The Shipping News" by Annie Proulx).Like the comment made by Sunday Times on the cover,it truly is "Exquisite" in every possible way.

For a man like Jay Gatsby,he lacks nothing and has everything.Everybody who is anybody is seen at his parties,thrown every Saturday,furnished with wine,food,Jazz and women.Lots of women,in his Long Island mansion.For Gatsby,who is handsome,charming and most of all,rich,seems to be a lonely host of sorts.Always alone in the crowds,listening to murmurs and the music,looking at his guests(invited and uninvited)collapsing into the arms of strangers after glasses of alcohol.He is always standing,always watching,always looking out for something that nobody really knew what it was.

There's a secret that he hides,never revealed to anybody but the ones that mattered.He has all but one thing in the word,this one thing so precious it kills him at night that it is within his grasp,but fail to clench his fingers.Out across the bay,is Daisy's house,where she lives with her married husband Tom.He thinks about her everyday for five years,always about the time they spent together,that brief summer together before the great war.It was then,just Gatsby and Daisy,together and only them.

It is possible,it seems,to have your dreams and longing to spell a certain disaster in your life.It is not what the future holds that might potentially destroy everything you have so carefully constructed,but the toll the past has on you,the way they take you in its leash and never lets go.What kills,what torments,really is the memory that bugs you at night,controls your life and hands as your desperately tries to place everything together.

It spelled disaster for Gatsby,as he witnessed the crashing down of his life.Daisy's love for him and Tom,his lasting love for her,who once was,and the complications in between.Everything and everything,all amounting to the destruction of the kingdom build by Gatsby,a kingdom of music,happiness and parties,though always shimmering bright on the surfacing but painfully hollow underneath.

I related to Gatsby,in a way i did not expect myself to.Of course i never threw parties for friends,or friends of friends,or friends of friends of friends.I dont have a hydroplane,or a yellow automobile to suit the pink suit that he wears.Hell,i dont even think i am ever going to go to Oxford like he did,or win medals in war and become a major.But i guess in a way,both of us are living exquisite lives,lucky to most people and fortunate.To the others,i guess we are the really lucky ones,or "bastards" like some would address us as.The mansion,the lawn,the hydroplane.The iPods,the handphones,the guitars.Really,we arent very much different.But underneath those materialistic things,those tangible items of life,there is this gap desperately in need of feeling,though always in sight but out of our reach.Like sand flowling through the gaps of our fingers,always squeezing tighter,always flowing away faster.

Longings and dreams,the hollowness at the heart of a dream,the way this wave of destruction forces the both of us to realise,to unravel.Are we destined,are we both doomed to be fools in this game of love,spiraling down an endless staircase that doesnt seem to lead to anywhere?Are we all going to die,next to the swimming pool,shot through the chest and drowning in our own blood?Am i going to be destroyed by my longings,my dreams,my hope,you?

At the end of the day,when the dust settles and the party-goers leave,all that is left is a messed up hallway and a trampled lawn.Swimming pools with wine glasses at the bottom,with leftover food flowing over the brink of bins.What's left,in this empty life so filled with hollow chatters and laughter?What's left of this dream,what can be redeemed of this dream,by obtaining it would be the absolute vanguish of it in the first place.It's ironic,and in a way contradictory.The willingness to take the risk,the risk of being killed in the process,to be destroyed,why are we the fools of oneself,ourself?

At least in life,Gatsby old sport.You had the wealth,the life,the green light across the bay upon the dock.What i have,what i have left are messages and memories.Lingering thoughts and utter disappointments.I havent got a green light across the bay for me to follow,to grab hold of in the middle of the night,in sight of your friendly neighbour.There isnt a yellow automobile i have,to drive to your place and invite you over for tea and cakes.I have...trivial things now.And does it matter,if i have anything at all,if it isnt you?