Sunday, 5 January 2014


Reading a book is different from reading a magazine, watching a movie, or playing a game. I used to be an avid gamer, toiling up my free hours playing computer games in my teens. Somehow, when I started the uni, the desire to play games slowly dissipated. It has now largely disappeared, save for a once in a bluemoon break.

I find it refreshing to live a life depicted in books. In one of the books that I am now reading; The Book Thief, the protaganist’s father was a loving and attentive figure. I have never had a father like that, as mine is distant and quiet most of the time. But I don’t blame him, since his own dad passed away when he was 9 year old. I doubt if his dad had shown his loving side towards him.

I often like reading books that are written in excruciating details, and my imagination just goes up all crazy, and I dream about those books sometimes. For me, reading is like dreaming, and the best part of it is I am dreaming while I am awake.

Years ago, I said to myself I would be lucky to get a job where I can just read all day long. Fast forward a few years, my wish is granted, as my daily job is to mainly read, think, write and talk. But the thing with human wants is, they are unlimited.

We don’t usually want something that is within our grasp, and we always want more of unattainable things. I still remember when I was little, I often said to myself, when I have grown up and have a job, I would buy all the video games that I want and play them all day long.

But now, when I have got the money to spend, there is no more desire to play video games. I grow unpatiently bored with every video game, as I immediately think of the ending and all desire dissolves away.

That is never the case with a good book. The twists here and there, the ups and downs, priceless.

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