recovering joy

The other day, i got off at the wrong MRT stop because i'd been so engrossed in a book i was reading (The Future of Ice, Gretel Ehrlich). It took me a while to realise what had happened. And in the last week or so, i've been staying up late into the wee hours of the morning, pursuing the narrative of Eshkol Nevo's Homesick, and now savouring the poetic insights of Patricia Hampl's Virgin Time.
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Such joy - to lose yourself in a book. It's been so many years since i've tasted it.
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