Aside

I saw this quote today:

A poem begins with a lump in the throat.

It’s from Robert Frost, supposedly. I think it’s splendid.

When I was much younger, I was a far vibrant persona and I used to compete in Poetry Recitation competitions in school. I started when I was 5 years of age. I recited the words of great people in English and Bahasa Malaysia, and Mandarin *that one painful time*. I grew up on poetry. My mother bought me this poetry book when I was 8 and we took turns reading the lines out loud. My mom would infuse them with such spirit and character; I tend to copy her when it’s my turn. She coached me in every competition I took part in. She was a good coach too: I won every competition *okay, apart from the Mandarin one because really, why would I win that one. My harshest critic and my dearest fan.

I have about 5 poetry anthologies, including Emily Dickinson’s work and Roald Dahl’s. I like the latter’s dark sense of humour while I admire the way the former can take simple daily occurences and turn them into..magic.

Unfortunately, I have not read a book of poems in a long time. It’s sad that my time is more occupied with other things, some perhaps, more frivolous than others. It’s high time I reread the dusty books on the shelves.

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