Reading

Up until I was in eighth grade, I genuinely loved reading. Some of my favorite childhood memories are of me curled up in a quiet corner with a pile of books at hand, or staying up until dawn to finish a book that I had been captivated by for the past, well, day. I remember taking daily trips to the library hand-in-hand with my sisters, even during school holidays, to be greeted by the librarian who always had a new book for me to try. I remember getting told off by my mother because I had gone to a second-hand book swap and brought back too many books.

But, as time passed, it was clear that my passion for reading was fading. I read fewer and fewer books as the years went by. Could this be because of my increasingly busy schedule? Maybe. Or because of my exposure to technology? Probably. But one thing was for sure. I was finding it more difficult to discover good books and immerse myself in them.

Maybe it’s because I have higher standards now. I can’t just pick up a book and keep reading like I used to. Or maybe it’s because my imagination is becoming more and more difficult to please. The older me needs more stimulation than a story in writing. I need more action, more energy, more things to get me hooked. This is probably why I am more attracted to the flashing screens of movies and TV than to plain old text on white paper.

So as I got older, I began to stray away from fiction books altogether, obtaining that kind of entertainment from movies and TV. I found myself cringing at magic and aliens, and dismissing them before I even started. Instead, I looked towards non-fiction to gain more informative value from books. It was at this point that books stopped being entertainment and started becoming homework.

The bookworm inside of me resurfaces every once in a while and I still get the craving for a good book. I long for the time when I could sit in the library for hours, just reading without thinking it was a waste of time, without any other thoughts or worries that would build in the back of my mind while I did so. I miss the times when I would pick up a book and my mind would send me on adventures effortlessly. I miss visiting the magical land of Narnia and waiting for my Hogwarts letter to arrive. I miss reading without thinking.

But perhaps the time for that has passed. Perhaps the reason why I feel dissatisfied with the books I pick up is because I gravitate towards the types of books and the style of reading that my younger self enjoyed. Change is necessary for growth, so perhaps it’s time for me to adapt to the person I have become and grow as a reader. It is time that I seek more depth and complexity in books rather than searching for words that my eyes can glide over. It is time that I actively seek reading habits that fit into my schedule and needs. Since I don’t have time to sit down and read anymore, I should make time to read when I can. The time I spend watching Netflix or the time I spend commuting can be substituted to become time that I spend reading e-books on the same screen I would have been staring at anyway. It will take more effort and more self-control, but my renewed reading experience will be that much more rewarding. I am not the little girl in the library anymore, so I must find the reading habits that work for the person I am today.