I love the smell of books—the whiff of the pages when I turn them, or even when I’m just standing between rows and rows of them. If there is one pleasure I can’t resist, it’s reading a book, curled up on the couch near the window of our living room in the afternoon when the sunlight is either shining through in mellow yellow, or there’s the sound of steady rainfall pitter-pattering, and I’m alone at home, with just our furry white dog dozing off on the couch across me.
Books are amazing. They just contain letters and words and may not even have pictures, but put these in good arrangement and they can evoke in you various emotions. It’s one experience to read a book where pages can be touched, turned, torn, or written on; a spine that can have a crease; and a cover to hold its contents. The cover itself is an artwork, and to say that one should not judge a book by this is sometimes not an easy thing to do when it’s the first thing you see.
I used to hang out in Fully Booked Greenhills more often back then, just looking around in different sections, and I sit and read there for hours, checking out books I rarely consider buying. When I am in the school library, I do quite the same thing. It is actually full of good reads even for leisure, but it’s just too bad that more students go there just for academic needs. One thing I vow before graduating: spend more time in the library.