reflections on reading 📚😊📙

Out of all the places I miss not being able to go to during quarantine, the one I keep thinking about is Barnes and Noble. Yes, you heard that right. No I am not that much of a grandma (okay maybe I am). 

But ever since I was a kid, Barnes and Noble has been one of my favorite places. 

The shelves of books stacked up to the ceiling. That slightly musty yet comforting smell that all book stores seem to have. It's quiet but at the same time alive - filled with the excitement of discovering a new book, a new adventure - and the sound of crisp pages ruffling through the air attests to that. Also the fact that the Barnes & Nobles Starbucks sells cookies as big as your face does not hurt (seriously, those cookies are so good). 

did i really write the blog post if I didn't mention cookies? 

Barnes & Nobles reminds me that I do enjoy reading - it takes me back to my childhood, where I often spent nights under the covers, nose deep in the pages of a book. From the safety of my bed, I would explore hidden worlds. Discover concealed treasures. Get lost in the stories of characters that lived seemingly amazing, but unreachable lives.

Now, as an almost high school graduate (5 months left!), I look back at those times with fondness - but also a little bit of sadness.

I, like many kids, loved to read as a kid. But throughout middle and high school, that *spark* was buried. Buried under mounds of homework. Buried under assigned readings, comprehension quizzes, and cryptic classics that seemed distant and overcomplicated. As much as I still enjoyed a good book or two during winter break, for the most part, reading became synonymous with obligation rather than passion.

And yet, in 12AP, that pattern of thinking shifted, if just a little. 

Out of all my years of high school English, I think the pieces we've read in 12AP have been the ones that have truly captivated me and spoke to me like no other. In Oedipus, I found a gnawing, thought-provoking question: fate or free will? As someone who loves debate, the argument and duality of Oedipus genuinely interested me and drew me in. In the Stranger, I found a character pondering some of the same questions I've been wondering during quarantine - what is life's meaning, after all? In Death of a Salesman, I connected with Biff's same yearning and confusion about future success and purpose. As a very-soon-to-be college student the conflict between societal pressure to achieve and internal fulfilment is something that resonated with me. 

not me using a bACHELOR gif adjaajfja

But most of all, I think the thing I've enjoyed most about 12AP is the freedom of choice. Being able to choose your own independent reading - it seems like a small act, but the impact is not. Here is where I really rediscovered, in some way, that childhood joy for reading. My first independent reading was Malcolm Gladwell's Blink - and although it's something I don't think I'll ever be able to write about on the AP test, it was a book that is special to me because it's a book I genuinely enjoyed. It sounds simple but it's that simplicity that takes me back to the attitude toward reading I had as a kid. The next book I chose was Brave New World - recommended to me by a friend, it's a book I don't think I would have initially considered. And yet, that book gripped me - it was weird, creepy, and yet altogether fascinating at the same time. It transformed the way I thought about "classics". 

sometimes i dont understand the gifs either

My last independent reading of first semester was The Joy Luck Club. Out of all my independent reads, I think this is the one that I'll remember the most. This was also the book that was the most confusing - I mean, 8 different narrators who all share similar names? What was the reason. But aside from that, The Joy Luck Club was probably one of the first books I ever read that made me feel seen as an Asian American. No, not seen as in watching the Disney channel portray the only Asian character as a friendless nerd time and time again. But being seen as a complex human being. Reading about the characters struggles with their own cultural identity, was in some way like reading about myself. 

It's weirdly ironic to me that while I started off reading as a childhood hobby, choosing whichever books suited my fancy, 12 years of schooling (including 4-ish years of high school later), I'm right back where I started - choosing books that I enjoy, and being content in that enjoyment.