I’m a very home-oriented person. But that doesn’t mean I dislike socializing.

As I get older, I simply lose interest in wasting time. Small talk, polite exchanges, and social rituals without substance feel increasingly meaningless to me.

I don’t feel the need to constantly meet new people, unless there’s real resonance, shared frequency, or something to genuinely learn from. Experience has taught me that those moments are rare.

After COVID, when working from home became the norm, I quietly drifted away from society. Not out of avoidance, but out of alignment.

My life became simple: occasional classes, dinners with old friends, a movie now and then. Quiet. Enough.

That was also when I began buying and reading books, many of them.

I used to prefer comics. I disliked text. Words require effort; images don’t. But later I realized something inverted: Once an image is drawn, it’s fixed. Words, however, create infinite images. Each reader imagines differently.

That’s when I discovered the true magic of language. I bought many books, full of words. Not all were read cover to cover. Some, honestly, I just wanted to put down 😊 Yet those books often carried a strange power: even holding them felt comforting.

To this day, I haven’t finished my favorite book. It sits by my bed. Just seeing its cover before sleep gives me a sense of fulfillment. Some things don’t need to be fully known. Their presence alone is enough.

Books are my final form of social life. Through them, I meet minds and souls that resonate with me, efficiently, quietly, deeply.

They take me to different worlds. And I never have to leave home.



—— XC Scribbles · 捌拾柒 LXXXVII 📚