In ninth grade, I thought Jennifer Fever, the dark-haired girl who sat behind me in classroom, was an alien . Our class organized an activity to raise money for the library, and in one month, Jennifer read 34 books. I couldn't believe it. Surely, she was from some faraway planet where creature lived and they didn't own television sets. How could a human being, a 13-year-old girl, read 34 books in one month? I had read three books. And by "read", I mean skimmed. I mean opened and placed them on my lap while watching cartoons. Who had time to read? In addition to my favorite cartoons, I had a basketball that required playing, a baseball that required throwing, and a volleyball that required volleying. And it wasn't as if my bike could ride itself. Besides, reading was boring. And if I wanted to be bored, it would be much easier just to pay attention during Mr. Kearly's social studies class. After senior high school, my education had become very narrow: computer engineering, mathematics, physics, and not much else. Years later, I realized something: I had not memory of ever reading a book for pleasure. But there was a world of knowledge outside science and engineering, and I was tired of being ignorant of it, so I decided I would become a reader. I dived into book after book. In short, the bookworm within me had awakened. Today, I carry a book(if not two or three) with me wherever I go. An hour-long waiting for the bus is not trouble; rather, it's a chance to enjoy a few chapters of Malcolm Gladwell's latest works. Sometimes, I wish my waiting was longer. What used to make the author bored?
Watching cartoons. Reading. Playing basketball. Riding her bike.