In eighth grade, I thought Jennifer Fever, the dark-haired girl who sat behind me, was an alien(外星人). Our class had aa1aa a reading competition to raise money for the library, and, aa2aa, Jennifer read 34 books in one month. I couldn’t believe it. It seemed to me that she was from some faraway planet populated by creatures that didn’t own aa3aa. Who had time to read? In addition to my daily cartoon programme, I had a baseball that required throwing and a bike that needed aa4aa. Besides, reading was boring. And if I wanted to be aa5aa, it would be much easier just to pay attention during Mr. Kearly’s history class.
Therefore, after high school, my education became very aa6aa: computer engineering, aa7aa, physics, and not much else. If you were struggling with a math assignment, I was a good friend to have. But there was a world of knowledge outside aa8aa and engineering. I decided I would become a aa9aa and I dived into book after book. Soon, though, my aa10aa weakened. Halfway through a book, I’d start skipping paragraphs, pages, and, sometimes, entire aa11aa.
Then something changed. While reading a collection of essays by Stephen Leacock, the late Canadian aa12aa, I found myself laughing out loud. However, the next book I picked up, Rohinton Mistry’s A Fine Balance, a aa13aa tale of three friends in India, brought me into tears. In short, the bookworm within me had aa14aa. Today, I carry a book with me wherever I go. A delay at my dentist’s office no longer frustrates me. It’s aa15aa extra time to enjoy another essay.