My reading ‘career’ as a child began when my late dad made it a tradition for us his breeds to read the newspapers for headlines and whatnot. Of course, among the newspapers were English newspapers. That was his method of encouraging us to read and making sense of what we read. Inevitably, language proficiency, especially in the reading department, was trained as early as those times.

But then, my dad’s life was short-lived. He died on the 9th of January, 1995 at our home after he drove all the way from the hospital just to be at home. I guess he knew it himself that his time was about up. That’s what my mum often told me in the first few years of his death. I was especially hurt over the fact that he died when I was still at the school (He died in the morning while I were having my morning session). Don’t ask me why I went to school that day – I guess, as a kid (I was only 10 years old), I didn’t quite understand this life and death situation. But I remember visiting my dad with the rest of the family in Hospital Sentosa, where he was hospitalized for his asthma. He died of acute bronchial asthma. How could I forget the disease.

From then onwards, I was no longer under the supervision of a fatherly figure I could look up to. Gone were the days where I would have to read the news and report it back to him upon his questioning. Making matters worse, my older brothers and sister were all in boarding school during those years. Inevitably, I had to be the guardian of my younger brothers while my mum went for sewing course, took up her driver’s license at the age of 41, and started to raise us up like hell. There were no relatives who sincerely lent us their helping hands. There were times when we barely had food on our table. As my mum went out for her job, I had to stay at home and baby-sit my then 4 years old and 2 years old brothers respectively. With the strain of time even for myself to go out and made a fool out of me, apparently I was left with no spare time to read.

If my dad’s life was short-lived (he died at the age of 42), so did my reading ‘career’. I could vaguely remember what kind of books I read and where did I read it at. It was as if the death of my father left a HUGE hole in my heart as I longed for the love and affection from a fatherly figure even till now. So pardon me should I at present read CONSIDERABLY lesser book(s) and at slower rate. My childhood just was not the same as most of the others.

Still, I manage to find fascination in reading, despite starting out considerably late – like, during my secondary school years. So, my advice is, “Better late than never”. Why did I have the heart to say that? Believe me. I’ve ‘been there, and done that”.

Owh, by the way, the novels that managed to capture my attention would be the Agatha Christie's and her detective. I took great interest in how Mr. Hercule M. Poirot solved the case and no matter how I tried to put on my so-called detective hat, I always end up being amused by how the story is resolved in the end. Kudos to Mrs. Agatha! You've inspired me alright.

Pictures taken from here and here.