Everyday, as I go back from work and enter my room, my eyes divert to the corner, for it holds something I cherish from the depth of my heart. It may seem silly to others, but I am totally indifferent to what others think, partly because it defines me, and partly because it is the only thing that solely belongs to me and me only.
Standing erect against the wall, there is an elegant bookcase, of my very own choice; of course and more importantly, holding my own books. My romance with books started almost a couple of years ago. I used to read occasionally earlier, but it wasn’t a developed habit until then. I was, and still am, a huge Harry Potter fan and I loved watching its movies. But I had never thought about reading its book series. When its second last part was close to release, I was like any other Harry Potter fan, curious about what would happen next.
It was then, that one of my friends, who had already read the entire series, started narrating me the story. So, I thought that instead of listening to the story from her in my chemistry class, which resulted in me being shown out of class, I should better read it myself. That was when this magnificient journey began.
The series comprises of seven books, and I started reading them one after another, consuming all seven of them. It took me almost two months to finish the entire series, and by that time, I had become so used to reading, that the habit stuck.
Everyday, after I had finished the last book of the series, I felt something was missing in life. I felt as if something very important had been taken away from me. Therefore, to quench my thirst for reading, I approached other books, and since than, a single day hasn’t gone by when I do not read. This habit has become so absorbed in me.
Now, as I look back, I realize that this habit has a lot of credit to be given for my personality development. What I am today, owes a great deal to this reading habit of...