songs, places, books and people.

I've spent the whole night listening to worship songs and every song belongs to a period, depending on when I listened to a particular song the most.

The same goes for places and books, they all belong to periods. And I know I should read less of Murakami or feed myself healthy dosages of it else I might start feeling blue.

When I was fifteen, I read The Bell Jar and I was depressed for days. The image of how she slithed her wrist with a razor over the bath tub and likened the blood to a long river with tributaries comes whenever I think of that book. It is as though it makes perfect sense that geography and suicide came hand in hand.

Between eight to ten, I loved Enid Blyton. I always wanted a tree house I could climb into with my picnic basket, or sucking toffees and skipping to the forest.

I wonder what I'd make of this Murakami phase a few years down the road.

I guess reading is, in many ways, a form of waiting. Waiting to find that someone else feels the same way as you do in fiction, and waiting to find that you feel the same way as the writer in reality.

Do people belong to periods too?