On my table

This afternoon, I took a photo of the pile of books on my table as I scribbled on my notebook.

My current reads:

The Zoo Quest Expeditions by Sir David Attenborough (please insert heart in eyes emoji in your own imagination)

and

Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban (in Chinese – I’ve gotten this a present last Christmas)

I used to beable to sit down for hours (perhaps that could also aid to explain my larger-than desired butt) and just read. I could read and forget about meals, and be in the zone. But sadly, these days, I’ve been fiddling with my phone more than my books.

My pile of books waiting to be read, waiting to be given life, sits in a lonely pile in a box – neglected, and seemingly abandoned.

The inertia is real, and very scary. The amount of guilt that I felt every time my gaze fell on the box is…

I took f.o.r.e.v.e.r to read through half of the book. The younger me would prolly look at the me now in absolute disgust, appalled at the person I’ve became (eh, sorry la. Adulting sucks, or rather I suck at adulting). I used to polish off books so fast, and concocted all these lovely little mini movies in my head whilst I read.

My attention span is now very very questionable and (somewhat) disappointing.

It’s extraordinary how self-obsessed human beings are. The things that people always go on about is, ‘tell us about us’, ‘tell us about the first human being’. We are so self-obsessed with our own history. There is so much more out there than what connects to us.
– Sir David Attenborough

Shucks. I’m self-obsessed too.

Back to the books!