There are times when I get so bogged down in schoolwork (essays, bibliographies, research, responses, countless countless readings…) that I seem to forget why I love what I study.

Then there comes a night like tonight, when I am alone in the house, attempting to organize closets, and stumble across some things from the past. Tonight those things were letters and journals, and I found within the pages my overabundant love for certain books and certain authors. Books and authors that I haven’t forgot about or stopped loving, but ones that have been put on hold while I read authors that I Have to read for school. Reading for pleasure and reading for school are usually two entirely different things.

Tonight I want to tell you about my favourite author. Ever.

Michael Ondaatje.

I will tell you about him by sharing with you one of his best poems (in my opinion):

On the porch
 thin ceramic
 chimes

        Ride wind
 off the Pacific

 bells of the sea

        I do not know
 the name of large orange flowers
 which thrive on salt air
 lean half drunk
 against the steps

 Untidy banana trees
 thick moss on the cliff
 and then the plunge
 to black volcanic shore

 It is impossible to enter the sea here
 except in a violent way

      How we have moved
 from thin ceramic

 to such destruction

It is a poem like this that reminds me why I love writing and why I’ve chosen to study it in university for the past five years.

If you’d like to read something else awesome, written by Michael Ondaatje, I would suggest The English Patient. You will not regret it.

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