The Last Concubine

It is not without reluctance that I tagged this post under my reads. I am barely halfway through it, and have completely lost the will the proceed. I might some day - some very distant day - finish reading it, but I don't want to wait that long to write about it.

I can't remember what of this book that caught my fancy. Perhaps it was the cover art (yes, I still make the mistake of judging a book by its cover, every now and then...), or the promise of the teaser-synopsis on the back. The only things I remember about it are the two or three times I started it, and then gave up before the first chapter was over. Trust me, Reader, when I say "dropping out" of a book isn't at all like me! I mean, I finished all four books in the Twilight series! Sure, I practically had to force my eyes on the pages by the time I got to the third one, but nevertheless, completed all four. That's how obstinate I can be. (Note: I will always regret having read them though...)

The Last Concubine is tiresome in its lengthy, yet uninteresting description of everything. Its pace is exceedingly slow, a painful drag. Certain parts in the story (up to less than half the book, where I'm currently paused...) are outright laughable. Should I extend my apologies to the author for what I've just written?

Sorry, Lesley Downer, I simply don't enjoy reading your book.

Reader, if you trust my opinion on reading material, don't bother getting this. If you have, by chance, already read this title and enjoyed it, I'd really like to hear from you! Leave a comment, or write me.

Two Months

It wasn't that I forgot my password or anything. I'd just been burning myself out taking on more than I ought to. It was work, and well, research obligations, and more work. And as if I hadn't stretched my limits out quite enough, I took on an extra "project", for lack of a better word, for the sake of *ahem*... glory. And, a small sum, of course.

Sometimes, I wish I were more regular. I wish I didn't think so differently, that makes the whole business of being me so... unbearable, at times. I wish I can be like all the other money-chasing fools out there. Earn big bucks, spend big bucks, *happyhappyhappy*. Imagine that in hashtag, Reader.

Most of the time, I don't know what I want. Sure, I wouldn't mind lots more money for the amount of heart and effort I put into what I do, but that's not the ultimate goal. I don't know what is. Perhaps, I'm still searching. Perhaps the reason I feel lost is... I'm actually lost. There are days I feel I'm right on track in my life, and there are those I feel I'm struggling for something I can't quite put my finger on.

Struggling. In high school, after a particularly disappointing test result announcement, my bestfriend felt especially depressed. She gazed listless out of the classroom window. It was pouring madly outside. In a broken voice, she said - Look at the bird flying in the rain. I am that bird... struggling. Of course, that, she definitely isn't now. I wish I can be sure that I'm not too.