I used to read whatever's on the bookshelves. That includes trashy love novels and a couple of remnant literature books of my sister's like chrysalids, cat's eyes... , some local authors like colin cheong and bonny hicks tell-it-all famous book.
That was ages ago back in my high school days. I was never the ardent reader that my sister was. She would lug books thick and thin to the wadding pool at civil service club when we were little kids and her glasses were much thicker than mine then. In fact, I was a late bloomer. I used to fall asleep whilst reading enid blyton (shit, how do you spell??) books upside down because I was trying to convince my grandmother that I, like my sister, liked reading. It was only later that I discovered the Famous Five and Their Adventures that I was hooked a little. Then came the sweet and blithely carefree lives of the Wakefield twins of Sweet Valley High. I remember borrowing books from the second hand bookshop at Far East Plaza what seems like a decade back. Wonder if it's still there? Then the trashier books of Danielle Steel (ok that's sentimental not trashy), and steamy stuff penned by the infamous Judith McNaught.
Nowadays, I pick up any book I fancy at the libraries. That includes anything from bimbotic, humourous female authors penning about people's life falling apart, finding love, a job, finding strength, being lost, ... I like stuff about bohemian lives, I like stuff about honesty and people finding good in life, I like sad, moving stuff.. basically I like to read about people and their lives.. partly to reflect on my own and see if there's another being (fictitious anot) who shares parallel life-views as myself or to find a world out there in the book which I haven't quite concretely found in my life.
It's been some time since I've picked up a book. Mainly because I find it hard nowadays to quieten myself down to a corner and just open the book and just absorb the words. I'm so used to noise, to the moving crowds at orchard, to the moving images of the tv screen, to action, to stress.. I've forgotten how to read. Yet, this holidays with the rainy weather and the tiresome routine of heading to town aimlessly with nothing to do, I've rediscovered a little of reading. What a delight it has been just settling down and opening a book and shut off the rest of the world. What a balm to the soul.
Reading makes me feel the way I've felt when I'm in my teens. Ready to discover the world, ready to be quiet and admire the wonder in life. What a gift.
Book on my shelf:
"Only Myself" by Australian writer Janet Fennell.
Sometimes funny, other times achingly sad, it's about a woman picking up the pieces after her husband's death and rediscovering herself, love and life.
Verdict: A gem of a book. Great with Hot Earl Grey Tea when there's
a drizzle.