· Tahmid Rahman
What I re-read every monsoon
There are books that belong to certain weathers. When the sky turns grey, I reach for the same worn paperback and find new annotations waiting.
Some books belong to seasons. When the first heavy rain arrives, I find myself reaching for the same handful of paperbacks, their spines softened by years of damp air.
Re-reading is a different act from reading. The plot is no longer the point. What I notice instead are the pencil marks I left the last time, and how differently I feel about them now.
One year I underlined a sentence about leaving home. Five years later, back in the same chair, I underlined the sentence just after it, about returning. The book had not changed. I had.
This monsoon I will read them again, slowly, with a cup of tea going cold beside me, and leave a few more notes for whoever I am next year.