Category: Books

There are times when we take a break from reading. It might be because we’re starting a new project (i.e. a writing project), going on vacation, or we’re busier at work. Whatever it is, getting back into reading can be hard. It’s like exercising a muscle that hasn’t been used in a long time. Like going for a jog when we haven’t jogged in a month or two.

The words leap off the pages one at a time. Processing the sentences and the paragraphs feel like a chore. Everything takes more effort than it should. But overtime, it gets easier. We become quicker in processing the words, sentences, and paragraphs. Our page-count increases with each day.

Soon enough, the book that took us so long to start becomes a breeze to finish. We already have the next book in mind. It’s easier to dive into that book, to visualize what’s happening, to understand what’s going on. As we begin to read more, our pile of finished books begin to stack up.

Then something comes a long, something that deters us from reading regularly. We forget about reading, and focus on our current tasks. A month or two goes by. At some point, the itch to read comes back to us. But it’s not so easy to start.

After finishing a book, it can feel like a wave of relief. It’s somewhat like making it to the end of a race and gasping for air, eager to take a break. There is a sense of accomplishment, especially if the book took several days or weeks to finish. We’re proud of ourselves for staying until the end. There were times when we yawned from the boring parts and wanted to give up. But we told ourselves to not quit, to finish the book.

If the book was exciting and enthralling, we never want it to end. When we do reach the end, however, it’s like a rollercoaster ride that abruptly comes to a halt. We want the adventure to keep going, to experience new twists and turns. Alas, there are no more tracks (in this case, pages).

Even though the experience is over, the ideas are still turning in our mind. We still hear the characters voices, thoughts, and continue to wonder what will happen after we’ve closed the book.

Collecting things can be a fun hobby, especially if it’s something that we can enjoy like books, movies, etc. I used to collect books, buying various books from authors I enjoyed reading (even if I didn’t get to reading all of their books) and housing them on my bookcases. As the years past, I would revisit the books, open them up to read a few pages, then put them back to read another.

But in general, collecting things never seem to have an end. Not only that, we run out of space, have no place to store the newest items for our collection. Overtime, the collection will gather dust, and we might even forget about what we had bought–or grew out of them.

Some people donate their collection to make more space, or because they no longer have an interest in the hobby or the things they collected. In my case, I donated boxes of books, not only because I did not read them anymore, but because I didn’t have the space for them.

It felt good to have less stuff, to make room for newer things. I still think about the books I read, the ideas and characters they implanted in my mind. Even though the physical books aren’t in my possession, the books themselves have stayed with me in how they shaped me and influenced my life.

It’s a different feeling when you return a book to a library as oppose to a bookstore. When returning books to a library, it’s more like you tried them out, took a chance to see if you were interested in them or not. When you return a book to a bookstore, however, it’s as if there was something wrong with it, something that convinced you not to keep it.

Of course, when you return a book that you’ve purchased, it means that the book wasn’t worth the value you paid for it. You had spent a decent amount of time and energy to drive to the bookstore, to leaf through the pages, and bring it to the cashier to buy it. In keeping the book, it means it had some value, whether it was for enjoyment, or if it had some educational/informational value.

But to reach the point where you decided to return a book, it means that you no longer have any intention of reading it. It’s as if the book bored you to tears, or was so difficult to get through that it wasn’t worth the time or money you put in to buying it.

When returning books to the library, it’s not so bad, since you probably checked out a bunch of books to read. But if there’s a book in that pile that’s worth reading, a book that brought tremendous value to you, then returning it is a sad goodbye. You wish you could keep it instead.

In fact, you might drive to the bookstore afterwards to buy it, or at least, order it online. When a book has that kind of effect on you, you know that some books will stay with you forever.

Is a library merely a housing place for books, or is it more than that?

When we think of the word library, we think of a place that holds books, media, newspapers, etc. It’s a place where people go to to check out books, to study, read, and to do research. But can’t we read or do research anywhere, say a coffee shop, our living room, and even our bedroom? And doesn’t technology allow us to have our own library in our tablet, cellphone, etc.?

A cellphone can certainly store plenty of books–books that take up no physical space. But a cellphone is tool for making phone calls, accessing apps, taking photos, texting, etc. Thus, a digital library on a cellphone is far from the primary function of the device. For some, a digital library can even seem nonessential compared to all of the other tools or apps they use on it.

What makes a library unique from the physical places aforementioned is that it calls on us to read. For example, our living room can be a place where we watch TV, play video games, listen to music, etc. Our bedroom is a place of sleep, rest. A coffeeshop is a place to drink coffee, eat, socialize, etc. But a library has little to do with these things with the exception of special events. A library, being filled and inundated with books and articles and magazines, invites us to open them and simply read.

Reading on a rainy day is different from most other days. For example, on a sunny day, there’s incentive to go outside, to travel, and to socialize. We’d rather enjoy the weather, go to the beach, or to enjoy a day of hiking rather than to stay inside.

Even on a cloudy day, we can still enjoy the weather. Despite the drabiness the gray weather brings to the forest or city, the temperature might be cool, pleasant. There’s still opportunity in the outdoors.

But on a rainy day, putting on a jacket, grabbing the umbrella, or driving on the wet roads can be a hassle. And to do any sort of outdoor activity would be out of the question unless there is some urgency to it.

Thus, on a rainy day, books beckon us to open them. Safe and dry from the rain, we leaf through the pages without noticing the minutes and hours that pass. As the rain trickles down the windows and leaves, our mind can be elsewhere: in a far off galaxy, in a world of dragons and mages, in a different part of the globe, or in a different time period.

The rain no longer rings in our ears. A whole world has opened before us–a world in which space and time has a different reality from our own.

When we can’t focus, reading a page from a book is like reading only the words. We can’t picture what we’re reading, put things into context, nor wrap our mind around the ideas. In fact, we don’t even pick up on them. It’s like each word is a separate sentence–distinct from the other words that come before or after them.

I’m sure all of us have been here before. Whether it’s when we stayed up late to study for a test, or when we’ve started a book that we have no interest in reading. None of the sentences or paragraphs register in our brain. In fact, it’s like our working memory isn’t running at all. We are reading without understanding.

We might as well be reading a page of random words. It would make no difference. The only way reading can be beneficial is when we’re focused, engaged, and curious. When we are contemplating, visualizing, or questioning the merits of the ideas or the story. If our mind isn’t an active participate in the text, reading has no meaning.

Have you ever read a book that you’ve already read but had forgotten you read it? It’s a strange experience in which it feels like the book is vaguely familiar, yet, you can’t put your finger on why. It’s not only until you reach a certain point in the story that you figure out why it’s familiar, and then you wonder why you didn’t remember you had read it in the first place.

Perhaps you had forgotten about the story, or you hadn’t thought deeply about it after you had first finished it. Either way, the second time reading it can be an enjoyable experience, one that brings new insight into the story. It’s as if you’re experiencing it from a new mindset given all that has changed since the last time you read it.

It can be like rereading a book from high school and discovering things about it that you weren’t aware of before. Back then, reading the book was more for the grade–to know what will be on the test. But reading it now, it has more to do with curiosity (why else would you be reading it?) than for extrinsic reasons. Rereading a book can bring back old memories and create new ones at the same time.

I read slow when I’m reading fiction, mainly because I don’t want to miss any details, and because I want to learn about the characters and understand what’s happening. Usually if I’m reading a novel fast, I’ll have to double back and reread previous passages just to know what’s going on.

I read fast mostly when I’m reading non-fiction. I’m essentially skim through it, honing in on the information I want to learn, the key points and facts. This goes for news articles, textbooks, brochures, etc.

But whether it’s non-fiction or fiction, the writing really dictates if I’m reading slow or fast. If the author’s style is eloquent, clear, and even humorous, I want to appreciate it, and thus, I’m willing to take my time reading it. But if I find myself bored with a story or an article, I will skim it for the sake of finding the next exciting part.

When we lose interest in a story, it’s hard to dive back into it. It becomes dreadful to pick up–to even think about. Reading the book becomes more like a chore than something we look forward to doing.

There can be many reasons why. The plot is moving too slow. It’s too wordy. Nothing is really happening in the story. The writing doesn’t hook us. Or the conflict is essentially nonexistent. At some point, we will lost interest if a book falls into either one of these categories. We won’t even think about it again.

Only when the story surprises us, or takes our imagination elsewhere, are we engaged in the book. It’s only then that we increase our focus, and spend late nights reading it. And when each chapter gives us a glimpse into something new and mysterious, we’ll work our way through it, even the slow parts, just to see what happens at the end.