My soul ached longingly as I flipped my newly-bought Jodi Picoult's House Rule last night. It wasn't the reading that caused the sentimental moment, but the smell of paperback books published with recycled paper. I flipped it again and took a deep breath between pages. A long, deep inhalation, with my eyes closed. I felt so calm that as if the world around me had stood still.
It occurred to me that I have not been properly reading a book for ages. All this time I have been jumping from books to books, without actually finishing them. I carried books around just in case I needed them to fill time, which I did take them out to read when I was waiting for something, but I never finish reading them, even after I was back in my own room.
I have been occupied by things I allowed myself to be occupied with, such as going out with friends, internet, nap, chatting with housemates, work. I would go anywhere if I wanted to, that includes attending Freedom Film Festival alone and going back Penang for Fea's wedding (with Jun Hoe's great help, of course). I realised it's been long since the last time I wiped my tears off my cheeks as I turned pages after pages of sappy Jodi Picoult. When was the last time I went camping in Kinokuniya or fed myself into a couch in Starbucks with a book?
Last night, I took a deep breath between the pages and paused. I missed the smell of books published with recycled papers.
Where is Cher Linn?
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