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I thought I would write everyday but here we are, for the first time after a whole month.

In my desperate attempt to be productive without actually having to do my work, I am organizing my bookshelf. This is a fun task, mostly--I love the way repetitive tasks clear your mind--but also a sad one. All the unread books. All the damaged books. Books that were gifts from my grandfather (which I still haven't read). One of them is a scented poetry collection by Goethe. Of course, it has lost all its fragrance over the years. I see books from abandoned past projects. Some of them are unread, others have numerous post-its sticking out from them, hoping that some day, they will become an essay. Whenever I clean my bookshelves, I have the feeling that I might end up somewhere where I cannot take all these books with me. Maybe I will never have a good enough job to have a space for the books. Or the fear of climate disaster sweeping the prized collection away in an intense tornado or flood. Does this mean it's better not to have books at all? Should I already get rid of them and be free from the weight of owning things? The thought of getting rid of my library sickens me. My parents got rid of my library. That was probably when they also subconsciously accepted that I'm not ever coming home. I am jealous of those who has the stability of living in one place where they can bolt down their bookshelves and let the books accumulate. I wish I had the luxury of imagining my grandchildren (even if we are not biologically related) learning something from my books. A few of the books are hand-me-downs from professors who retired. Unfortunately, I can't imagine myself as a professor nor retired.

The truth is there are too many beautiful things to read in this world that I will never ever have the time to get to them all. That ideaparalyzes me. Even though the correct response would be to try to make a dent in the to-read pile, to read something rather than nothing. Very unlikely that this will happen, but I think I believe that I will regret on my deathbed that I've so far read the wrong stuff. And there's nothing more fearful than regret.

I pull a couple interesting, short titles to the side. My intention is to read them so that they are not lost to time again. I don't really believe I will. Most likely,they will be tucked between other books the next time I am cleaning the desk.