When did reading for fun become so difficult?

Growing up, I was a huge bookworm. Thanks to my godmother, a middle school teacher, I developed my love for reading very early on and always had one book or another under my arm. Whenever I was allowed to choose my own gifts, the answer would always be the same: please, give me a book. During that time, reading was also incredibly easy. I had lots of free time, did not have to spend my own money (of which I had none) and was surrounded by more than enough people willing to encourage my habit.

So when did I stop? Why?

I have pondered about this more than once but still have no real answer. My best guess is that it happened sometime in high school, when there were no more Harry Potter adaptations to look forward to and more and more of my time was being filled with chores, obligations, and horrible, awful, soul-numbingly boring mandatory readings. The older I got, the more responsibilities I had, and the more frustrated I became with myself for not being able to finish a meager 250 page-long book. It felt like no story captured my attention anymore. No character was captivating enough, no plot was interesting enough, and no protagonist was as perfect as Mr. Darcy. I barely had enough free time, so why was I wasting it on something that no longer excited me?

So my “battle” with reading seemed lost until very recently, when I found myself alone on the other side of the world trying to conquer graduate school. Suddenly, I no longer had my mom, my friends, my routine or my monotonous job. My entire support system was gone, everything was different, and even ordering a coffee became intimidating due to the language barrier. Although I was very happy with my new reality, I still longed for something that reminded me of home.

This is where reading comes back in. One day, after very exhausting finals and an amazing trip to Cambodia, I found myself downloading the first “Twilight” book again. It was such a mindless act. I was simply curious about a quote I had seen as a meme on Twitter, but even after I found the quote, my eyes would not stop scanning the words. Before long, I had finished the page, and then the chapter and then the book. At around four in themorning, I had finished my first book in months – all in a single sitting!

The comfort that experience brought me reminded me of why reading for pleasure is such a magical experience. According to Clark and Rumbold (2006), not only does this habit increase a person’s general knowledge, fluency and vocabulary – much needed benefits for anyone in university – it also offers readers a better understanding of other cultures, a greater insight into human nature and decision-making, as well as a way to combat feelings of loneliness.

After finishing “Twilight,” it was like something in me clicked. I spent the entire next week rereading many of my childhood favorites and once my nostalgia-filled binge was over, I noticed how much my perception of those books had changed now that I am an adult with more experience and different perspectives. Since then, I have found immense pleasure in exploring titles that reflect the person I am today and finally tackling my long list of feminist essays, love stories, self-discovery novels and chronicles about how being lost in your twenties seems to be a universal experience.

Ultimately, I am sad it took me moving to another continent and losing all sense of security to finally rediscover my love for books, but I am glad it, at least, happened. Now, I once again have my books, my lifelong friends, making me feel at home – even 17,000 kilometers away.

P.S.: The quote that got me curious was the iconic, although very memeable, “how long have you been seventeen?” a question from chapter nine.