Mother Mary Comes to Me
The unbearable heaviness of being
I can’t even remember the last time I read a book from cover to cover. I haven’t dared to buy myself a book for the same reason in a while. My Kindle died a natural death a year back. I never got around to replacing it because I wasn’t sure if reading would ever come back to me.
Recently I’ve had discussions with childhood friends who used to be avid readers, lost it for a while, and got back to it with intentional effort — and with those who have moved out of the country and found it difficult to read in their mother tongue, but caught up with reading again.
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