It is said that love has no boundary: no boundary of country of origin, age, color of skin or anything else we can think of. That’s true! Can you imagine a love between a person who is schizophrenic guy and a normal girl who is condemned to die counting her final days –might be four, five or six in maximum?
I have been reading a novel, ‘Veronika Decides to Die” by Paulo Coelho. I don’t know how many of you have read it, but this post paraphrased for those who have not gone through this one. And, I hope that my review will move you and titillate a desire to read it at least once. This is one of those books I can bet, you will not be able to put it down before you consider it putting it aside for some other work. This is so gravitating!
Plot: Veronika (the main character of this novel) tries to commit suicide despite a life full-of-life: she is so beautiful that any guy on the walk would like to commit their life once and for all without considering giving a second thought to their decision if she desires to give them a chance, a nice family who takes care of all her desires and demands, her successful life professionally – a complete perfect life everybody desires to have and the one that everybody envy her for. He failed attempt to commit suicide lead her to a mental asylum where she is now counting her final days which is no more than a week or so because of devastated heart which has been damage irreparably.
Her decision to die is now taking a veer – a turning point in her life and in her last moment of her life, she feels like she wants to live this life and what she use to think is now turning to be just an illusion, and she now realizes that world is far more beautiful than what she had thought, though, she knows that he desire to live now is just like plucking star from the sky.
As she is counting her days in a mental asylum where she is being treated for her fragile heart in the last moments of her life, she meets this guy (Eduard) who is schizophrenic – who is bouncing back and forth between his own imaginative world and this real world.
During her final days in the mental asylum, she use to play piano for Eduard as he stands in the same place in front of the piano and waits for Veronika to play for him, without uttering even a single word.
Veronika decided that she had to go to bed, but Eduard was still standing by the piano.
‘I ‘m tired, Eduard. I need to sleep.’
She would like to continue playing for him, dredging upon from her anaesthetized memory all the sonatas, requiems and adagios she used to know, because he knew how to admire without appearing to demand anything of her. But she body could take no more.
He was so good looking. If only he would take one step outside his world and see her a woman, then her last nights on this earth might be the most beautiful of her entire life: Eduard was the only one capable of understanding that Veronika was an artist. Through the pure emotion of a sonata or a minuet she had forgot a bond with this man such as she had never known with anyone else.
Eduard was the ideal man, sensitive, educated; a man who had destroyed an indifferent world in order to recreate it again in his head, this time with new colours, new characters, new stories. And this new world included a woman, a piano and a moon that was continuing to grow.
‘I could fall in love right now and give everything I have to you,’ she said, knowing that he couldn’t understand her. ‘All you ask from me is a little music, but I am much more than I ever thought I was, and I would like to share other thing with you that I have only just begun to understand.’
Eduard smiled. Had he understood? Veronika felt afraid – all the manuals of good behaviour say that you should never speak of love so directly, and never to a man you barely know. But she decided to continue, because she had nothing to lose.
‘You are the only man on the face of the Earth with whom I could fall in love, Eduard, for the simple reason that, when I die, you will not miss me. I don’t know what a schizophrenic feels, but I’m sure they never miss anyone.
‘Perhaps, to begin with, you’ll miss the fact that there’s no more night music, but the moon will still rise, there’ll be someone willing to play sonatas for you, especially in a hospital, where each and everyone of us is a “lunatic”.’
She didn’t quite know what the relationship was between mad people and the moon,but it must be strong one, if they used a word like that to describe the mad.
‘And I won’t miss you either, Eduard, because I will be dead, far from here. And since I’m not afraid of losing you, I don’t care what you think or don’t think about me. Tonight I played for you like a women in love. It was wonderful. It was the best moment of my entire life.’