In between studying for my exams, covering the shelter, and working on projects for class, I have managed to squeeze in a bit of time for pleasure reading. I have recently revisited a few favorites, one being Arthur Golden’s Memoirs of a Geisha that I originally read back in 2008.

I just reached page 255 and found a note referencing a quote that apparently touched me back then: “Grief is a most peculiar thing; we’re so helpless in the face of it. It’s like a window that will simply open of its own accord. The room grows cold, and we can do nothing but shiver. But it opens a little less each time, and a little less; and one day we wonder what has become of it.”