Disclaimer: This post has very little to do with the blogging process, but it will be fun nonetheless! Of course it is.
A few days prior, Lillian and I had a short, yet meaningful discussion over at Twitter (where short is perpetual, and meaningful is rare). She and I talked love for books, and how unearthed ours—she of course, inspired by the conversation, decided to put up an amazing post of her own at For Books And Cake, regarding the “derivation of her bookish genes”, tagging me in the process! So of course, I’ll be sharing a Throwback Thursday rip-off of sorts, but this time with words instead of pictures! I seriously hope you prefer the latter, because books are ALL about words. So who’s in? If you are, please do leave a comment and share your own stories!
I don’t come from a bookish family. My mom reads books on occasion, but she prefers them either spiritual or adult, neither of which appeal to me in passing. My brother reads as well, but not even close to half as much as I do, since he already has more than enough on is plate with college (or uni, as you may prefer to call it), constantly burning the midnight oil, such that it’s a wonder he can manage a Day of Debate post. My dad avoids books like the plague. He’s sort of obsessive compulsive in that he won’t start a book he can’t finish in one sitting, and unless he’s amassed enough sleep and coffee (he hasn’t), it’s not gonna happen.
I have loved books since pre-school, but have been collecting them since the blog only. My shelf is a lackadaisical attempt at calling itself a shelf, and I can attest to that because of its size (or lack, thereof). I’ve been reading for as long as I can remember, and I can remember pretty far back. However, I only used to do so whenever I had the money, because my parents trained me to save up for my own luxuries at a tender age. Unfortunately, I never really had much to spend in the first place, since I was always running around in school, and consequently always hungry. I was probably the cafeteria’s most frequent customer. Therefore, I couldn’t read as much as I would have wanted to.
A lot of the people I call friends are readers. And for this, I am eternally grateful. Before the blog, my recommendations were in receipt of my classmates, usually in the standard format “JASMINE YOU HAVE GOT TO READ THIS MYGOLLY HE WAS SO ATTRACTIVE”. This usually worked. My brother also helped cement my love for literature, fanboying with me in terms of Harry Potter, The Hunger Games and Percy Jackson.
I used to read a whole lot of manga. A lot of people still do, and truth be told, I haven’t completely gotten over this phase just yet. Even though it sometimes seems weird that I am attracted to graphics and CGI, I console myself with the fact that as of the moment I am attracted to a few words on paper, tailgated by a vivid mental image of my celebrity crush. Now however, I have stopped collecting manga (I used to read anything CLAMP) and have instead begun establishing my collection of books. And for this, I hold no regrets.
My bookish habits have changed over the years since Flip That Page. I don’t enter a bookstore and leave empty-handed anymore, for example. I read one or two books each week, instead of the usual one or two each month (home reading reports inclusive). I have known for a long time that a book is a krabby patty, and I, a resident of bikini bottom. I never really used to act on impulse, buying books more than I should have (and we all do, admit it! Tell me your pile isn’t just behemothic, and I’ll reconsider).
So, for the derivation of my bookish genes, I’ll have to consider the three most significant factors due its envisage:
- My habit of reading manga, which got me started on the concept of fangirling.
- My classmates and brother, who unremittingly recommended and read with me.
- My innate reader self, a steady flame that has since been burning from the out within.
Now here comes the fun part: What’s the derivation of yours? 😀
Do tell! Sound off in the comments and make my day 🙂