Books: My Early Days With The Books

Hye there....peace be upon you.


I went back to my hometown several days ago.

My old habit came back.

Since I was a little girl, I like to go through things in the house.


To me, the very same book collection in the house seems to change over time.

During my early days, I felt that they were not interesting at all. No picture, no colour, nothing.

Just boring, meaningless words dancing on yellow, worn pages. Thick and boring. Worn and weird smelling.

Huh, not my type, I would mumbled to myself.

That was what I was thinking before I went to primary school. And for several years later, I was still having the same thoughts.
I was not talking about all books in the book shelves. But most of them. Especially those English novels and the giant textbooks which used to belong to my elder sister and brothers.

I did read a series of them. Written in Malay, the book series consists of short stories and there were also illustrations to assist the young minds create suitable imagination.


Change of Perception Over The Years

When I almost finished my primary school, I browsed through the books again. Yeah, the very same book collection on the book shelves. I believed most of the books were bought by my late father before I was born.

Father, at that time, seemed to stop buying more books. I'm not sure why. Perhaps he was too busy to enjoy latest books available in the market. Or maybe he just enjoyed being with us, his children, more than the books now. My late father was a man who spent most of his time at home and school only (he was one of the teachers at my primary school).

One day, as I was 'checking' the shelves, one of the books caught my eyes.

Merry Mister Meddle. I've seen the book since I was very small. The illustration on the cover was ugly. I used to ask father, what is the meaning of meddle. Without looking my way, father just answered, 'The thing people give away after the athlete wins an event. The one they put around the neck'.

I was perplexed. Father was actually giving the definition of medal, instead of the exact word printed on the book I was holding. Yet, I didn't question more.

My young brain was totally accepting. It made an adjustment to link the two things.

I know... The book must be talking about athletes and sports. The weirdo on the cover page might be one of the sportsmen mentioned in the book. Must be the main character. Must be boring. Ish, don't read it! You might get brain damage after reading it!

That's what came to my mind before this. Yeah, don't read it. I might damage my brain if I read it (supposes to mean 'headache').

But now, after years flew by, I held it in my hand once again. This time, I now knew, meddle isn't something we wear around the neck. Meddle is not something nice at all. Meddle is to intrude in other people's affairs or business. Bad Mister Meddle meddling in people's affairs.

I flipped through the pages.

As I grew up, my number of lexicons had skyrocketed and while I was reading some lines from the pages, I sensed something I've never realized before.

The book contained no colourful graphic inside, but the visuals I was having in my mind were far more colourful than those images I usually encountered in other so-called interesting books.

The language wasn't meant to kill the readers, really. It was just me who failed to understand it previously. My language command was not good enough. I was unsuccessful at my first attempt to digest the story.

Things were not the same anymore. As my English improved over time, I got to enjoy the book I used to think as boring and fatally damaging.

The book I mentioned to you just now? It was awesome! Really!

After finished reading that one, I went through the books collection one more time. My mind had changed and so do the taste and thoughts.

I was sure, I would find more books which had been waiting for me to grow up.


p/s: As time pass by, I continue to browse through the book shelves, every now and then. My reading list differs over the years. From Enid Blyton, I shifted to different genre like Sidney Sheldon's and Dan Brown's. Last time I went back, I was attracted to a biography of Robert F. Kennedy.

It was an obvious sign that I've grown up.