The Diary of a Medium Writer

The Scent of Lost Books and a Mother’s Legacy

Coming to Medium to write has brought me a strange realization: the habit of reading is somehow fading away from this world. Everyone is constantly rushing, always in a hurry. Yet, for some reason, I feel the blame doesn’t lie with individuals alone. Our entire society has become this way. People no longer seek peace of mind; everyone is merely chasing material, worldly needs. It seems as though the inner lives of the people around us are growing drier and harsher by the day.

Yet, our times were not like this. Take myself, for instance — before I even sat for my secondary school exams, I had finished reading at least a hundred novels. New book pages have a unique fragrance, don’t they? There is a familiar, magical intoxication in that scent. My mother was a truly wonderful woman; she used to gift books to all of us siblings. My hunger for reading was so intense that I would devour whatever crossed my sight. Not just storybooks, I wouldn’t even spare the text printed on sweet boxes!

This wonderful reading habit we acquired might not have brought us wealth, nor did it give us a so-called “big name” in society. But it did something monumental — it made the people of our generation human. Truly human.

“To date, I have written sixty-two stories on Medium. A deep, personal affection binds me to some of these tales. Sometimes, while re-reading my own stories, my eyes well up with tears. I know very well that these writings are not monumental masterpieces. But they nourish the ‘inner me.’ They grant me a sense of ultimate peace.”

I never expect others to shower my writing with praise. However, if someone takes a little time to read it, where is the harm? But then, do people really have the time anymore? Worldly demands and constant busyness have completely drained the softness from human hearts.

I am vividly reminded of something my mother used to say. She sang beautifully, yet our strange society believed that a woman singing was a grievous sin. My mother never gave two hoots about that. She would say, “I sing for myself, for my own peace of mind. I don’t sing to win anyone’s applause! So, I will never stop singing.” To her, singing was a form of prayer to the Almighty.

I have just one small request for the people of this mechanical age — please, bring back this lost habit of reading into your lives. Read a little more. If nothing else, it will soothe your mind. It will provide nourishment for your soul.

And in this day and age, isn’t that the rarest luxury of all?