This is how evenings during the holidays were like. It’s cold. The only warmth comes from the lamp’s bulb. There’s a steady sound of rains outside the window. And the room’s filled with the musty scent of old thickened pages from being soaked wet but managing to survive periodic typhoons in the region.
It’s one of the things I love coming home to. I used to spend evenings reading every novel from the numerous bookshelves around the house. These bookshelves are stacked with usually romance, thriller, and crime novels – nothing that would require much thinking. That’s what makes rereading these books relaxing. That, and of course re-experiencing the stories -however syrupy they may get – which I have initially read back in high school. That was more than a decade ago.
But still, the evening cold, the musty scent, and the stories make all those evenings of reading seem like yesterday.