You read me like an open book?

I thought with the new/last year in the university, it would be a great time to start writing my blog once again. Well, we can all (i.e. me; I don't think there are a lot of people who read this blog) see how long I will be able to keep that up. Anyway... Happy New Year!

One of my favourite books that I have lately read is Michael Ondaatje's The English Patient. I read it years ago in Estonian but for my Canadian Identity course I had to read it once again in English. I fell in love with it more and more as I was writing my essay about it. The book is actually full of underlined paragraphs and comments and tags. I concentrated on the role of the Patient in the life of the inhabitants of Villa San Girolamo. For some odd reason I have been thinking about that book and that essay lately.

I believe that although the burnt man in the book was a patient, his role was to be a healer. The most obvious example must be the relationship between the Patient and his nurse Hana. She is dedicated herself to taking care of the burnt body but it is actually herself that needs healing the most. The war has left her with wounds in her mind and soul and as a nurse she has forgot to take care of those because she was too busy helping injured soldiers.
Hana's father was also badly burnt in the war and died alone. She writes to her stepmother:
" He was a burned man and I was a nurse and I could have nursed him. /…/ I could have saved him" (p. 314).
Patient is Hana's salvation and also he guides the twenty-something girl back to peace, just like a rehab from the horrors of war. He makes her read books to him and tells her stories; this is a kind of therapy for both of them. And Hana lets this happen:
“Okay, tell me, she thought, take me somewhere” (p. 60)
And this helped Hana to turn a new page in her life and go back to Canada, to her stepmother. The roles of the healer and the patient were turned around.

Why am I writing about that book? Well, of course one of the reasons is that I really love that book. But I love many other books as well. To be honest, I love literature as a whole...
Lately I have noticed that I like to listen to my friends problems. (Not that I want them to have problems; I would be so happy if they didn't have any problems!) But I feel very flattered that they choose to turn to me, although I have never been very good at giving advice. But sometimes just a few kind words do the magic...
I truly hope I'm not one of those people who Paolo Coelho describes in his Zahir: (not a proper quote from the book; my rough translation from Estonian into English )
"I discovered something not too long ago: our true friends stand beside us when we succeed in something. They support us, rejoice at our victories. The fake friends are those who appear only when we have hard times, wearing a sad face because of 'solidarity', whereas our sufferings actually offer them a consolation in their own sad life."

However, taking Ondaatje's masterpiece into account, maybe it just means that I need 'healing' myself? My last post post here was about me not being able to open up to my friends. Nothing has miraculously changed. I still cannot speak about my problems to anyone close to me.
Sometimes I just feel that I have no justification to bother people with my petty problems. Why would I want to ruin anyone's mood just because I'm wrestling with my own thoughts and feelings.
It is easier for me to deal with someone else's problems because maybe I'm too much afraid to address my own. But maybe someday, just like the Patient, my dearest friends will see my position and will be my healers. And I'm very much sure that they will...

(The Ondaatje quotes are from the 2004 version of The English Patient published by Bloomsbury Publishing; cannot remember the publisher and the page for the Coelho's quote)