Hi, I’m Chim,
I have grown up losing myself in books right from the warm, comfortable nook of my father’s lap to the cozy familiarity of my bedsheets and flashlights at ungodly hours. I have lovingly dog eared ancient copies of musty novels while dancing to my father’s favourite songs. I clearly remember vowing to marry Sherlock Holmes at the age of three and drafting letters to 221B Baker Street with chewed up pencils and an uneven childish scrawl until I was nine. I’m glad I never posted them.
Now I do nothing much but leaf through my favourite books, dance (tap my feet or shake my head at most) to my favourite songs and run out of ink or abuse my keyboard out of love when inspiration strikes. I wear sweaters in the dead of the Indian summer because I hate my arms. I forget things. I forget to reply to texts. I forget where I leave my stuff. I forget to comb my hair. I forget that I am loved.
Welcome to my mind. It is a sea of my own words hiding in the shadows of the words of others. Amongst song lyrics, quotes and a good memory for the trivial and the trivial only, there isn’t much room for anything else. I caution you to tread lightly.
Books, music and unkempt hair