Ever since I learnt to read, I've always had my nose buried in a book. Every shabbos afternoon the girls on the block would be out playing machanayim or the likes and I was home reading. For a while my mother would push me to go out and play with the others, she was worried that I had no friends, but then she gave up and left me alone with my books.
Novels were fine, sci-fi was out, I didn't mind biographies, but my all time favorites were stories about secrets. I loved the cheesy separated-at-birth twin stories and the finding-a-secret-wing to the house stories. Our house didn't have an attic, much to my dismay, but that didn't stop me from knocking on the wall trying to find a hollow chamber. I overdosed on realistic fantasy novels. I was intrigued by the idea of time-travel and lost-tribes. I had an active imagination and my sisters and I would make up games to suit our fancy. I always wondered what it would be like discover a secret room in the house or stumble upon a family secret.
Well, one day I did. But the results weren't as thrilling as I had imagined it to be.
4 comments:
To your previous post..
Why didnt you change the name???
What are you talking about?
Thanks for stopping by....
a book worm!!
Post a Comment