I've just packed most of my books into boxes. Two of those boxes will be following me where ever I go. Another two of those boxes are filled with books who need new homes.
Some of them, I couldn't even think of giving away even though I've outgrown them. One of them is a collection of abridged classic stories which my late paternal grandfather gave me when I was eight years old. I cannot think of giving it away, as it's the only think which I remember most vividly he gave to me.
Some books, well, I couldn't give away because I'm reminded how they were with me through difficult times, especially during my teenage years, when I was a shy, bespectacled and chubby teenager, hoping desperately that things would get better, but until then, I would want to hide in books, immersing myself in this fantasyland where things WERE better. I cannot think of giving them away just because of the memories they come with.
I just realized what a problem it is with me being such an indiscriminate reader (actually, book hoarder). I've accumulated books which has accompanied me since I was a child and they consist of a diverse range of genres, which surprises me even now.
Can you imagine, I learnt to read at four years old. Imagine the amount of books which I've accumulated?
In other news, I've also got a backache from lifting boxes and books the wrong way and I've promised facebook to come up with a list of books which I want to give away. I'm not sure whether packing is scarier or that is.
Mel out.
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