Lost Habits.

Reading physical books used to be as smooth as breathing once upon a time in my life. I would do anything just to have a book to read after school when I was in secondary school. Most of the time, my friends and I would get a book in limited copies, and I'd always want to be the first to read. I absolutely adored every moment I had to bury myself in a story. There was something deeply comforting about the smell of a new book and the soft sound of flipping through crisp pages. It felt almost personal, like the book was alive in my mind somewhere.

Growing up, I didn’t even have to buy most of the books I read. With older siblings around, there were always piles of schoolbooks, storybooks, and old novels lying in every corner of the house. I could pick one up anytime and disappear into the imaginary world of whatever I was reading. Those were my escape routes. Sometimes I would read late into the night just because I didn't want miss part of an interesting storyline or even gather enough patience to wait till morning. I remember the joy that came from finishing a book and rushing to school the next day to tell my friends about and even give them unsolicited spoilers, even if they didn’t care much. To me, reading was more than just a hobby, or something I used to pass my time.

Now that I think of it, it’s quite sad how I lost my touch in reading in what felt like the twinkle of an eye. I can’t even trace the exact moment it happened. One day I was such a book lover, and the next, I could barely sit through ten pages before losing interest. Maybe the problem started when I began reading more on screens than holding actual books. It wasn’t intentional, it just happened gradually. Scrolling through endless feeds replaced the thrill of turning a page, and I didn’t even notice until it was too late. Suddenly, I wasn’t as excited about reading as I used to be, and when I traced it back, it was around the time I stopped touching a physical book.

However though, I didn’t stop reading completely. I still read things, but the experience is not the same It felt like I don't have the same brain I used to read a 300-page book in a day or two right now. . All those little emotions attached to having a physical book in my hand were gone. It’s so bad that I can’t even remember the title of the last physical book I read because it’s been ages. Each time I tell myself I’m going to start reading again, it feels like pouring water on a stone. I’ll hype myself up, pick up a book, and after a few pages, my mind wanders off to something else.

Sometimes when I see people who romanticize books, stacking them beautifully, annotating with colorful tabs, or posting how many they've read in a short while, I understand them deeply. I used to be there. I envy them even. I know I can get back, but just thinking about how much time and effort it will take to rebuild that focus already makes me tired. I tell myself, “Yeah, we go again tomorrow,” and somehow, that’s where it ends.

Judging from my recent reading habits, it’s going to take a real revival to awaken that part of me again. Though reading on screens is convenient, the feeling is never the same. Hopefully one of these days, I’ll finally pick up a book again, not just to read, but to remember what it feels like to be back in those moments where a page can take your mind to a different world.