If you were growing up in a household where any language besides English was your first language and was born to immigrants who were not yet assimilated, you would know reading books was not a night time ritual. It wasn’t until I was in kindergarten when I actually held a book with English words. And that’s all I did. As I was learning most of my English at school and from TV shows like Dora, Barney, and Dragon Tales, my parents did their best to guide me to read the Clifford books I brought home for homework. We spent hours (an eternity) trying to read a book that should have only taken five minutes to read, and now that I reminisce on those days, I realize that I wasn’t the only one learning from Emily Elizabeth’s stories. Sadly, although I was learning to read, I wasn’t learning to pronounce.
It was from the Clifford …show more content…
But when a good mystery book about death catches my attention, I HAVE to read it. This book I HAD to read over the summer was The Hundred Lies of Lizzie Lovett. As I rode around in an old car searching for Lizzie, the “it” girl, with Hawthorn, I realized I am a Hawthorn. I live in the shadows of the “it” girls. I want to know all about them, who they are and what they love, but can never care enough to fake it till I make it. The quick read was a book I passed down to my sister because I want her to learn not to be intimidated by fat books (or the “it” girls at school). Hopefully, this book to her is like what Percy Jackson was to me, an accomplishment and a milestone in my reading journey.
Truthfully, my reading journey has just begun as I dove into the lives of misfit teenagers, the curious men upon the arrival of a carnival, and the large lumbering man. As I continue my journey, I want to follow the life of a Pakistani boy in American Dervish, cope with Charlie while reading The Perks of Being a Wallflower, and follow the life of Indian immigrants’ daughter in One Day We’ll All Be Dead and None of This Will