My Reading Story

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STUDENT ID: @02841258
“A child who reads, is an adult who thinks.” I had just published a new book and was so proud of myself. I ran to show my mother my latest mishap of art made from cut out colored papers bound by an endless series of tape and staple pins. She laughed at my failed attempt at creating a book and encouraged me. I gave her a toothless grin in return.
At an early age of five I had started writing books that ranged from books about dinosaurs that lived in trees to books about ‘My Angry Mum.” It didn’t matter if the drawings and writing were poor, the fact that I was able to put them together and channel my creativity into it gave me a sense of accomplishment as a child.
However, as preteen, my journey as a reader and writer was starved. I no longer saw interest in making a mess of tapes and glue or even writing at all. All I wanted to do was read and the books I wanted had a non-negotiable price. As result, by the time I was eleven, I had read the books in my library at least thirty-five times. I remember how I would take at least five books to bed and read them all before falling asleep. This became a bad habit, and after a while, I couldn’t fall asleep without reading a book. This affected me in the worst because the fact that I needed a book to sleep also meant that as soon as I started reading at all, I would want to sleep as well. Nevertheless, I was able to correct this and

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