Confessions of a closet chic-lit reader
I havent been wholly truthful.I am quite a reader, I admit it. I read at least 3 books every month. My favourite writers are people you havent heard off (u wud have if you google them up). Sometimes I find that highly intellectual that I create my own trend of reading. How self-statisfying this may be, it has brought me back to the colourful pink and yellow paperback covers from my actual literature-type (if there is such thing as "type").
I loathe at girls when I see them reading chic-lits in the Komuter. "Oh, how typically shallow!" my thoughts will tell me. Truth is (after many months), I have come to understand this behaviour of my mind, I was jealous of them.
After "the incident", I have decided to go back to my old-self. I used to love reading chic-lits while I was in the UK. Sophie Kinsella was my favorite. To be colourful, again. Not so dull, not behaving like an adult. Not at all trying to think how to set my life right. Not the slightest thought of having kids. So care free. So lively. So easy. Anything goes. Just like the paperback cover of a chic lit.
Yesterday I gave in to my reading lust. And jealousy. And all the seven deadly sins put together (if applicable in reading terms). I was feeling on top of the world. Seeing the colourful shelves of books labeled under "CHIC LIT" at Kinokuniya was highly elevating. I felt like Hensel & Gretal at their first sight of the house made of candies. It was a WOW!
And so I bought it. The one which I was dying to by Adele Parks called Still Thinking Of You.
Cooped up in my own mind-assylum, I was happy. Again.
My next change : Hair-cut like this one. I love the cat-sy look, refreshing you think?
My next to next change : Get myself a tatoo like I longed for? White cat on my shoulders?
posted by WaBBa Fe$H @ 3:55 AM
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