Reflections on A Reading Life
It's been a while since I've been able to work from my home office in Cyberjaya but today happens to be my day off and because the inter-district travel ban has been lifted, I am able to visit my apartment there. I'm now typing these words from the comforts of my man-cave.
The good thing about being here is that almost my entire book collection is available. It's like being reunited with my memory bank. Each book is a piece of random access memory. Most of everything I know came from these books and if I need to recollect a certain passage or revisit a certain idea by a particular author, I am able to find it here in my shelves.
I wish I am a child again, being able to spend an entire school holiday reading. Are there such children anymore who would be delighted to while away his or her time perusing books rather than being glued to his phone or computer screen?
Before the miracle of the Internet and the World-Wide Web, the only source of knowledge was books. Which was why my first investment when I could afford to do so after working for a few years was to purchase a set of Encyclopedia Britannica. This set still occupies prime space in my library shelves. It is a milestone in my quest for knowledge and understanding.
And that's all I've ever wanted to do. To know and understand. To have all my childhood and childish questions answered. A quest that had lasted an entire lifetime and is still on-going. Is that too much to ask for?
My collection of books here is the result of this perhaps quixotic quest--the belief that the universe could be understood by the humble human mind and that there's nothing nobler than the pursuit of knowledge.
This belief has coloured everything that I do. I was just flipping through a paperback book from the shelf with the title Bohemia written by Herbert Gold. And on the title page, I had written my name and the date and place where it was purchased: 5th April 1994, San Francisco. And inside the book, I found a card which I had used as a bookmark: it was an unused breakfast coupon from the Westin Resort, Macau, dated 7th December 2000.
Every book is like a time capsule. Not only do the contents of the book enlighten the mind, the experience of buying, reading and carrying the book with me on my travels are all woven into those pages. I often like to slip pieces of receipts into the books that I'm reading. And inside this book I found on a receipt for a drink I had at the American Chili's Grill and Bar Restaurant at Boat Quay, Singapore, dated 11th April 1998. I had carried this book with me to Boat Quay and read it there.
This collection of books is my entire life. And I'm still accumulating them. The other day, another book I had ordered from Book Depository arrived through regular mail: In Court and Kampong by Hugh Clifford and I immediately scribbled the date of its arrival: 6th of September 2021.
When I'm done reading a book, I would also note down the start and finish dates on the last page--using pen and ink to mark my territory like what a dog does with urine.
Of what use are all these books and supposed knowledge that I've gathered? How does it help me in becoming a better person if not a successful one?
Honestly, that has never been my goal when it comes to reading. It is like asking of what use it is to consume food. It is simply a basic necessity of living, without which I would have died a mental death.
And here I am back again in my apartment of books, pulling out a piece of my life from here and there--every book reflecting back at me, like illuminating facets of a diamond. It's the reflections of a life lived and examined. and I know no other way of doing it.
