From 2014, With Words 🌼

My love for reading didn’t come rolling in like thunder, but arrived slowly — like dew settling on the tip of a leaf; subtle, calm, and unknowingly quenching a soul thirsting for meaning. It all began in 2014, when I laid eyes on a book that seemed ordinary but held something extraordinary. Back then, I just wanted to kill some time — but who would’ve thought that single page would open the door to a world full of wonder, where words weren’t just ink, but whispers speaking gently to the heart.

Book after book, I wandered deeper, and it was then I realized — reading doesn’t just open the mind, it opens the heart. It taught me the essence of empathy, sharpened my critical thinking, and introduced me to corners of the world I’d never physically stepped into, yet felt so vividly close through imagination. As the Malay proverb says, “you can’t love what you don’t know” — and truly, the more I knew the world of books, the deeper I fell in love with it.

Every book became a safe haven — a place I turned to in the chaos of the world, an escape, yet also a journey back to my own soul. Year by year, from 2014 to 2025, that interest has not only remained, but blossomed. Books became a constant companion, a faithful teacher, and at times, a mirror reflecting parts of me I never knew existed.

Reading taught me that in this fast-paced world, there is value in slowing down, in savoring meaning, and in appreciating every moment spent with pages that speak.

In a world of modernity and digital noise, where many prefer screens over sheets of paper, I still find comfort in the scent of a book, the sound of pages turning, and the stillness that fills the air when I lose myself in reading. For me, reading is the purest form of self-care — it requires no advanced technology, only time and an open heart. It is where I learn how to be more human, because every story is a reflection of life itself — with wounds, with hope, and with journeys not always beautiful, but always meaningful.

Sometimes I read to find answers, and sometimes I read to run from questions. But in every page, I find pieces of myself I thought I had lost. Books don't just tell stories, they tell truths in the gentlest way possible. And in that process, I learn to make peace — with the past, with my flaws, and with a world that often feels impossible to fully grasp.

As the Malay proverb says, “to bend the bamboo, start while it is a shoot” — and I am grateful that the seed of love for books, planted in 2014, has been nurtured until now, in 2025. It’s no longer just a hobby, but a way of life — a habit that matures me, humanizes me, and constantly reminds me that knowledge is never enough, and the mind must always be sharpened lest it dulls with time.

I believe that everyone has their own story, and for me, mine is not written solely through life experiences — but through the books I’ve read. Because in the end, we are the sum of all the stories we’ve ever embraced — whether they were lived, or simply inked on paper.