I walked into 2012 with a very achievable, and very simple, resolution. I decided to read at least twelve books before the year ended.
Now I can feel the end of the year pushing at me, and I'm only somewhere near the middle of my eleventh book, not considering the handful of reports on local affairs I've read, of course.
I feel disappointed that I let reality step in the way and stop me from doing this very simple thing which has to do with the very thing I most love doing.
I kept note of titles of what I've read this year, and the dates I finished them. It's funny how I read four books in just over a month, between the first of January and the sixth of February.
February sixth. The beginning of the coup d'etat. And that was it. I was so messed up about the events that occurred that I completely gave up on everything. It was only in June that I could pick up a book again, and slowly went back to enjoying the comforts reading allowed.
Of the books read this year, one of my favourites was Kafka's The Trial. Then another, though I didn't necessarily agree with all said in it, was Ishmael.
On a different note, near the end of the year, I've been watching a surprising number of movies. I've realized it's a whole different world of magic that I have left unexplored for most of my 27 years.
2013 is already knocking at our doors. I've decided to hold on to the same aim again. Here's hoping I curl up with and get to live in at least 12 books this coming year.
May the Reading Gods bless me, and all readers.
