Saturday, March 12, 2005

I Love Reading; Life Is Random

I love reading. Even those who don't know me too well know that I'm a slightly neurotic bookworm. My friends know that wherever I go, inside the bag I'm carrying will be a book. Or two. Or more.

Unfortunately, I don't have the time to read as much as I would like to, so I often have to grab whatever opportunity there is to read - while waiting for friends, waiting for the MRT, or riding in the bus.

But the bus isn't always the best place to read, especially when you have to stand. So the other thing I like to do on the bus is observing people - adorable three year-olds whom I sneak faces at when their parents are not looking, filthy coin-in-the-ear old men with wild hair and wild eyes I will not look into, young and pretty girls who are perpetually late for school. I always have the most fun with the first group, but it's nice to observe the last group too, for very different reasons.

I noticed a pretty girl on the bus to school one day. When I stood beside where she was sitting, I could tell from the notes she was reading that she was also from Ngee Ann. But what caught my eye was not her notes, nor her pretty face. It was the obvious fact that she was pregnant, probably already in her third trimester. I wondered if she was ready for motherhood.

A few weeks later, as I walked from canteen 2 after lunch, I saw another pretty girl. No, she wasn't pregnant. Not anymore at least, since she was pushing a pram with a baby sleeping inside. I wanted to stop to admire the baby as the girl approached, but I didn't.

But I adore kids. I love to squat down beside the five-year-old and get busy poking the soil with her. I love to explore the underground labyrinth of the neighborhood drainage system with the adventurous 12-year-old. I love to stump the intelligent and articulate 10-year-old as I ask her the strangest questions. I love to carry the two-year-old in my arms, as I introduce him to the world of texture, letting him feel a leaf, a screw, an uneven wall, a leather surface - anything that we can get our hands on. I love to watch the fascinated face of the seven-year-old as she gets transported to another land as I read Cinderella with full expression.

Even without the seven-year-old, I often read aloud when I'm at home, just for practise. I've always had a tendency to mumble and stumble over the easiest words, especially after too many days of not talking very much, so I find that reading out loud helps to loosen my tongue a little. Of course, that's not the primary reason for reading. I read because

I love reading.

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This has got to be my weirdest and most whimsical post yet. I don't even know if I like it.

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