Ever since I was a little kid, I always found my dad surrounded by books. He was always enthusiastic about learning new things. When we didn’t have shelf space he’d have books in cardboard boxes and he was still proud of his books, whipping out and reading them every now and then. When we finally moved to the house that he designed with everything he wanted, he was ecstatic.
He has his own ‘office’. A room with a wall full of shelves only meant for books. I remember the very first day we pulled out all the books haphazardly dumped by the movers/packers into the shelves. Arranging them with my father was one of the best memories I had with him. We debated for a long time about how to arrange them. To my 11-year-old brain, the most logical way was to set them according to their height in ascending order. But he wanted them grouped according to their use. Finally, he settled the argument with, “I’m going to use it more often, I need it to be in this order.”
After his demise, we relocated a while later because the house seemed empty for just for me and my mum. But, he has passed on his love for books to me and although I am content, the longing for my own bookshelf still lingers. I read a lot about things just to satiate my curiosity, just like him. I keep my books in boxes, just like him. Hopefully, I’ll have my own shelf someday, just like him.
