Cass, my youngest daughter, wasn't an early reader. She only started recognizing words at around age five. I still remember her teacher telling her to eat more eggs so her memory would improve and she could recognize words more easily.
Perhaps she simply hadn't found the right books yet.
Everything changed when I introduced her to the novels of Geronimo Stilton, Enid Blyton, and the Diary of a Wimpy Kid series. It was as though those books were the missing puzzle piece her brain had been waiting for.
Almost overnight, she became a bookworm.
Wherever we went, there was always a book in her hand—at restaurants, hawker centres, in the car, on trains, while shopping, and even at school. Her favourite place on earth was the bookstore, and to this day, it still ranks second only to the skating rink.
By the age of ten, she was reading thick novels filled with tiny print. I remember she bought a huge Harry Potter book at a Big Bad Wolf sale. The book looked intimidating—massive, thick, and packed with pages of tiny words. Friends joked that she looked like a little lawyer because she was always carrying a hefty novel around while wearing her glasses.
By twelve, she had already moved on to novels written for adults.
I invested heavily in books for Cass and her two sisters. The three of them loved reading, and looking back, it was one of the best investments I ever made. I didn't just buy them books—I helped them fall in love with reading.
Cass later went on to participate in numerous essay-writing competitions throughout secondary school. Then came her SPM year. At the very last minute, she decided to sit for English Literature, an optional subject that wasn't even taught to students in her stream.
Determined to make it work, she approached her English teacher for guidance and borrowed notes from her van mate, who was her senior. He generously passed all his notes to her.
Thankfully, she took the leap.
She scored an A+ in English Literature.
I couldn't have been prouder.
Today, Cass still reads physical books. She treasures every one of them and absolutely forbids me from selling her collection. Those shelves of well-loved books are more than just paper and ink—they are reminders of a lifelong love affair with reading that began with finding the right story at the right time.
And that, to me, is one of the greatest gifts a parent can give a child. 📚❤️
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| She even hijacked my Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother |
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| At the hair salon |
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| In the train, otw to Ipoh |
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| At a book store in Singapore |
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| Her routine every day of her primary and high school life - enjoying her fruits and dessert after lunch, with a book in hand. |