big bad wolf

ever since i was little, my teachers used to think i was a voracious reader. yes, grown adults described a kid less than ten years old as "voracious" to describe my reading habits.

i don't blame them, it was given i knew a shitload of things. i loved learning. i grew up on encyclopedias and educational tv channels. even up til now that holds true with wikipedia and youtube. but what never really hooked me are books.

i have a friend right now who holds a special place in my heart cause she is the only person that had expressed appreciation to my writing (satan bless her soul). it felt like a validating victory for me. i've been writing for decades, unappreciated, sometimes scorned, and here comes some random person in my life who see some sort of value in a work that i deem intimately personal. that means a lot.

but perhaps out of her desire to be a better writer she wanted to know my secret sauce, so she asked what books do i read - i wasn't able to give her a satisfactory answer.

books bore the shit out of me. the most functional use i have for books are to stack it to elevate my office monitor to help with my posture, but my eyes very rarely reads through lines of ink on paper. it's not for a lack of trying though - i'm sorry but i simply don't have the requisite attention span to sit down and read a book, neither do i have a decent memory capacity to remember where i left off and connect it with the entire narrative when going back to the bookmark. despite being passionate about writing, and if my friend were to be believed, i seem to have a talent for it - i'm shit at reading. that perhaps makes me such an impostor.

which isn't entirely new, i've been faking it ever since i was little.