We need to return to reading, not just consuming.

I’ve been sitting with something lately that feels both small and deeply personal—but the more I reflect on it, the more I realise how much it says about the way we’re living today. Reading has been a struggle for me. Not in a casual, “I don’t have time” kind of way—but in a way that makes me pause and question myself. It takes me a long time to finish a book. Sometimes I don’t even finish it at all. And if I’m being completely honest, there are moments where that makes me feel embarrassed. Almost like I’m falling short in a way I can’t quite explain. Like I should be more disciplined, more focused, more… capable. Because reading, to me, represents something deeper. It represents thoughtfulness. Depth. Expression. The ability to communicate clearly, to understand more, to think critically. And when I struggle with it, I start to feel like I’m missing something essential. Like I need to improve—not just my reading habits, but my speech, my vocabulary, the way I articulate myself. And maybe that’s where this reflection really begins—not just with me, but with all of us.

I think, in many ways, we’ve drifted away from the basics. From the quiet, foundational things that shape how we think and how we engage with the world. Reading. Constructive conversation. Sitting with ideas long enough to understand them, instead of reacting to them immediately. And instead, we’ve moved into a space where everything is fast, immediate, and often surface-level. Most of our conversations are happening online now. And while that has its place—it creates access, connection, and community in ways that weren’t possible before—it also comes with limitations. So much of what is said online is misinterpreted, taken out of context, or reduced to something it was never meant to be. There is little room for nuance, for patience, for real understanding. And I say this with awareness, not judgment—because I’m part of that “we.” I’ve found myself engaging in conversations where the goal isn’t always to understand, but to respond. To keep up. To have something to say. And that realisation has been… unsettling. Because it made me question how much of my communication has been shaped by this environment. How much of it has become reactive instead of reflective. After intentionally spending time reading again—really reading, not skimming, not multitasking—I noticed something shift. My thoughts slowed down. My ability to sit with ideas deepened. I became more aware of how often we talk over each other instead of truly listening. And I realised something simple, but important: we don’t listen enough anymore. Not deeply. Not patiently. Not with the intention to understand. And maybe part of that is because we don’t spend enough time in spaces that require it. We don’t spend enough time in imagined worlds anymore—the kind that books offer. The kind that stretch your mind, that ask you to visualise, to reflect, to sit in someone else’s perspective for a while.

There was a time when reading transported us. When it challenged us. When it shaped how we saw the world. Now, we scroll. We skim headlines. We absorb information in fragments. We rely on algorithms to decide what we see, what we engage with, what we think is important. And somewhere in that, we’ve lost a level of depth that used to come more naturally. I see this shift not just in myself, but in how I approach parenting as well. I often think about how different things are now compared to when we were growing up. We had more freedom, less supervision, fewer screens dictating how we spent our time. And now, as a parent, I feel a deeper sense of responsibility—not just to guide my child, but to protect the way she experiences the world. Because media consumption doesn’t just entertain—it shapes how we think, how we process, how we see ourselves and others. And I’ll be the first to say—I’m not a perfect parent. I’m learning as I go. But I’ve become intentional about the environment I create for my daughter. She only watches shows I approve of. She watches YouTube with me, not alone. We spend time doing things together—arts and crafts, baking, cooking. She reads. A lot. And I’ve realised something through that process: when you make something feel fun, children don’t resist it—they lean into it. She has a recipe journal now, which, to be honest, has become a full-time commitment for me because she is constantly asking for new recipes to add to it. And I can’t even complain, because this is exactly the kind of engagement I want for her. It’s creative, it’s present, it’s hands-on. Even something as simple as teaching her how to play cards turned into something meaningful. We play almost every day now. And those moments—those small, consistent interactions—feel more valuable than any passive form of entertainment. Because they are real. They require presence. Attention. Connection. And that’s what I keep coming back to.

We’ve placed so much trust in what is fed to us—what shows up on our screens, what trends, what goes viral. But how much of that are we engaging with deeply? How much are we questioning, reflecting on, understanding? Then I think of my dad. He still reads the newspaper every day. He watches the news on TV. There is something steady, intentional, almost grounding about that. It’s not rushed. It’s not fragmented. It’s not dictated by algorithms. And it makes me pause. Because so many of us are consuming information in a completely different way now. We’re scrolling through headlines, absorbing quick summaries, reacting to things we haven’t fully explored. And in that, we risk losing the ability to think critically, to engage thoughtfully, to communicate meaningfully. Real-life conversations matter. Now more than ever. Not the kind that happen in comment sections or quick replies—but the kind where you sit with someone, where you listen, where you ask questions, where you allow ideas to unfold naturally. And I think reading plays a bigger role in that than we realise. Because reading teaches you how to sit with something. How to process. How to understand beyond the surface. So maybe this is not just about reading more books. Maybe it’s about returning to a slower, more intentional way of engaging with the world. With information. With each other. Maybe it’s about choosing depth over speed. Presence over distraction. And maybe, just maybe, it starts with something as simple as picking up a book—and actually finishing it.