The week-end before last, I finished reading Love in the Time of Cholera (by Gabriel Garcia Marquez) on a flight home from interstate. I finished reading it about half an hour before we were due to descend, and I spent this time staring out the window (I always choose a window seat if I can), reflecting on the events and characters of the novel, and also contemplating any parallels with my own life.
One of the principal characters, Florentino Ariza, is what most would call a hopeless romantic. At one or two points in the novel, his mother proclaims that the only ailment he ever truly suffered was love. Indeed, he is lovesick to the highest degree, as he waits over half a century for the woman he loves, even after she rejected him and married another man. Continue reading