“I was once asked what the first book in my life had been. I would rather talk about the first book in each of my lives.”

— Clarice Lispector, Too Much of Life

That line from Lispector’s chronicle stopped me when I read the book. It lingered and brought a wave of nostalgia. It felt like someone had asked me the same question. It’s more than about the first book, but about the many firsts across the different versions of me.

Because isn’t that how we live? In fragments. In phases. In quiet rebirths and forgotten transitions. And along the way, certain books arrive, always carrying something we needed.

I can’t remember every book I’ve read. But I do remember the kinds of books that marked each stage of my life. So, here are the first books of my many lives:

1. Comics: Crayon Shinchan, Doraemon, and Ninja Boy

I don’t remember the exact book that marked the moment I first learned to read. But I do remember one school holiday, sometime in first grade of elementary school, when I fell into the world of comics.

Crayon Shinchan and Doraemon became my childhood companions. I read those stories again and again. Not just because they were hilarious (which they absolutely were), but because they were what I had.

Back then, books weren’t exactly easy to come by. It wasn’t about being picky. I would’ve read just about anything but growing up in a city where access to books was limited meant I mostly relied on hand-me-downs from relatives or friends.

Still, even with such a small selection, something clicked: a quiet love for reading began to take root.

2. Folklore: The Legend of Mount Bromo

Things changed when a national bookstore chain finally opened near my home. I was still in elementary school, and for the first time, I could walk in and pick a book on my own in a proper bookstore, though the options were still limited.

I remember choosing two folklore books that day. One of them, The Legend of Mount Bromo, stuck with me for years. I read it so many times I could recite parts of it from memory. Every time a school assignment required a book reference, that was my go-to. It truly was a good story and given how few books I had back then, it naturally became a favorite. That little folklore book became a cornerstone of my early reading life.

3. Fiction: Fairish, Dealova, and More

I was in my final year of elementary school when a friend brought a novel to class. Curious, I peeked at the first few pages and I was hooked. I asked if I could borrow it, and that night, I stayed up late, unable to sleep until I finished it.

That novel was Fairish. And it was the first time I lost sleep because of a book.

The next day, I returned it, and I borrowed another novel from her: Dealova.

From that point on, I became a regular at the local rental bookstore, borrowing as many novels as I could get my hands on. For years, fiction was my world until I had to move away for college, and everything shifted again.

A little bit out of context, I ended up spending quite a bit of money at the local rental bookstore. It was mostly because the local libraries didn’t have much to offer and that, in itself, felt like a quiet irony. As citizens, we had to pay out of pocket just to read. In the absence of public resources, it was private businesses that stepped in to make books accessible.

4. Nonfiction (Academic): Organic Chemistry by Ralph J. Fessenden and Joan S. Fessenden

Back in high school, I’m sure I read the occasional nonfiction book, but nothing really stuck with me that I could not remember any specific title.

College, though that was a whole different story. My memory could still remember clearly that Organic Chemistry was the first book that welcomed me to university life and let’s just say it didn’t do so gently. That textbook was covered in highlighter marks, sticky notes, underlines, and page flags. The books were covered in a chaotic masterpiece that reflected my equally chaotic attempts to keep up.

Did it inspire me? Absolutely not. It haunted me. (Seriously, lol.)

But it also taught me discipline, resilience, and how to push through the brain fog of burnout. In the end, fortunately, I got an A in the class. So maybe all those frantic scribbles and page-wrecking notes were worth it.

5. Nonfiction (Personal): Thinking, Fast and Slow; Think Again; and Range

For a while, I took a long break from reading anything that wasn’t academic. Life got busy, as it does. I told myself I didn’t have the time, and for a while, I believed it.

But then one day, I picked up Thinking, Fast and Slow by Daniel Kahneman and slowly, something shifted. The joy of reading for me, not for school or work, quietly returned. That book became my reentry point into nonfiction. It stretched my thinking and somehow kept me company during even the busiest days.

Not long after, I found Think Again by Adam Grant, and its thoughtful insights landed in all the right places.

And then came Range by David Epstein. This one shook me. It made me realize how narrow my life had become. Who I was and what i did was too specialized. Too confined. Range cracked something open. It reminded me that the world is wide and that my life could be, too.

Since then, I’ve welcomed new experiences: running, caring for fresh flowers, journaling, learning things simply because I’m curious.

Books don’t kick down the door for me. They just nudge it open inviting me to step through.

6. Poetry: Inquire Within

2024 was a heavy year, and as I write this in 2025, that weight hasn’t really lifted. In fact, it feels even heavier. Socially, economically, politically, it has been a time filled with anxiety and uncertainty.

And I felt it deeply. Reading nonfiction books on politics, climate change, and history only added to the weight. My thoughts kept spiraling. So now, I think it’s time to try something different with what I read.

Then, I stumbled across Inquire Within by IN-Q. It didn’t fix the chaos around me, but it calmed something inside me. His poems were raw, honest, and searching. Amid the noise, his words were a whisper I needed.

7. Literature & Essay: Too Much of Life by Clarice Lispector

While poetry grounded me, Lispector’s Too Much of Life cracked open another door. Her short chronicles, fragmented yet full, felt like they mirrored my inner chaos.

In a world that still feels uncertain and dim, I found strange comfort in her words. I no longer sought clarity. I only wanted resonance. And Too Much of Life gave me just that. It was the first literary work and essay collection that made me feel seen in this chaotic era.

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There isn’t just one “first book.” There are many. Each is meeting me exactly where I was, each shaping the person I was becoming.

So, like Lispector, I choose to remember the first book of each of my lives.