It’s been a while since I’ve penned my personal thoughts, let alone written book reviews. The past four years have been full of writing, though none of the type that revolved around young adult literature, fiction or even fun. I knowingly made the choice to focus the majority of my waking hours around university, campus life and work experiences.
It got to a point where I realised that going through my econometrics textbook gave more joy (and less guilt) than a novel. Novels gathered dust on my table under worn notebooks and crumpled revision notes.
Highlighters went dry. Pyramids of pens stood tall on my table, enough that I can probably gain a tidy profit from their reselling.
That’s over and done with. The day I found out I had officially graduated from my course with a BSc was one of the best days of my life. Tension drained from my shoulders and I spent the next few days alternately giggling and sighing.
And then I slept. I took the better part of two months to gain some much needed rest after years of studying and working part time. An opportunity I doubt I’ll get for a long, long time.
November 2015 marked the return of the Singapore Writers Festival to the Arts House. It was there that I met Rachel Hartman and attended her panels, and it was there that a bud of interest for stories grew from within its cold, hard nub.
Her panels with Joyce Chua and Joyce Chng were captivating (writeup by Chachic), and there were piles of huge beanbags that the audience could chill on. It was fun, and I loved it.
I found myself rereading some old favourites along with their sequels, and now I’m steadily making my way through a couple of other titles. Slowly, I’ll get back into reading for leisure, and slowly I’ll get back to blogging and reviewing.
Thanks for standing by!