Findings of a nonpareil unequalled unparagoned unprecedented deviant specimen.

The danger of books.

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I guess I know why I rarely read anything nowadays.

I feel obligated to finish one book the second I start, to the point of ignoring lectures and sneak-reading under the table, ignoring shower time, ignoring meals, ignoring people.

Harry Potter book saga habit.

I’ve read Twilight’s Breaking Dawn because my friend who is a bookworm told me the book was interesting.

Read the whole thing in a day.

The huge font size helps.

Ended up wanting to tear that book page by page and burn them.

Gave it to another friend instead.


Had a reading competition with my ex-roommate during secondary school; sape habis dulu dia menang dan dapat pegi prep dulu dan stadi untuk SPM.

I forgot who won.

We were reading Marian Keyes.

Finished a 600-or-so-paged book in two days.

Much smaller font size, with much more realistic chick lit component.

Based on Keyes’ dark past anyway, so.


I’ve hated my friends for telling me the fake ending to Potter saga’s last book.

I even cried a bit.

Dude I’ve waited like two years for Deathly Hallows.

At that time Ma held off giving me the book until I’ve finished SPM.

Four, looooong excruciating months.

It was depressing, seeing likewise Potterheads reading the book in front of me.


I also end up becoming the characters of the books I’ve read for a week or so.

Stephen King’s Different Seasons, the first novella called Apt Pupil, I felt a bit psychopathic, and actually scared myself.

Haruki Murakami’s Kafka by the Shore, I finished the book feeling all confused, and felt a bit Oedipal.

Arthur Conan Doyle’s The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, read the first few pages and shelved it, but I acquired this incredible superpower of speaking complicated posh Classic English, like Watson.

Yasmin Ahmad’s memoir book How You Know, felt like I was the people who knew her personally.

James Frey’s A Million Little Pieces, I left the book feeling scared I might sink back into drug abuse and alcoholism.

I’m afraid what Fifty Shades of Grey can do to my brain.


The end.


Written by Takahara Suiko

3 March 2013 at 10:40

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