Undergraduate / "1...2...BOOM!"- Common app [9]

Prompt: Topic of my choice, I guess.
Notes: It's a little choppy, and I need help with fluidity. Also, I probably need to chop it down, since I think it's too long for the common app. =/ Also, is it a bad subject? Is it boring? Be honest.

This is literally my fourth essay *sigh*.

"1...2...BOOM!"

In the dark living room lit only by the tv sitting in the middle, my little brother and I silently counted with our fingers the seconds it took for the thunder to sound after a bright flash of lightning, in awe at how close the storm was to our house. I'd never been afraid of thunderstorms; I relished the thrill of the atypically dark sky and seeing the raw, uncontrolled flashes of light followed by a violent crash soon after, and I enjoyed watching outside my window. That night, a flash of lightning and a perfectly synchronized "BOOM!" exploded over our heads causing us both to jump, the tv going suddenly going pitch black; the tv had died, and after a few minutes of fumbling around, my brother and I agreed that there was no hope for the tv's revival. It was upsetting because we knew, after countless times begging for game consoles, computer games, and other toys, that our parents did not spend on anything that they deemed unnecessary; they had both come from impoverished parts of Colombia, and the tv was the most modern thing we had.

Thankfully, we discovered that the cable dish was destroyed, and not so much the tv itself. My parents took it extremely well; this was a sign and good opportunity to rebel against the ever-increasing cable bill, and instead switch to basic channels. In a few days when I saw my father proudly installing the thin antenna on top of the roof, I knew it meant a permanent change. At seeing that ominous piece of metal on the roof, I screamed, cried, and pleaded until my parent's ears hurt. It took me a few days to come to the reality that it was another thing that I just couldn't have; it took me years to appreciate the full consequences of it.

To pacify my complaints of constant boredom, my mother took me to the local library. I resentfully picked out a bunch of books for the week since anything was better than doing nothing, but was surprised to discover feeling a thrill exploring a world unknown to me, whether it was in the laughter from "Amelia Bedelia", the wonder of "The Magic Tree House", or the loving story of "The Velveteen Rabbit". After that, I made going to the library and picking out a stack of books a ritual of mine, to the point where the library staff knew me by name and would smile every time I would tip toe to place the books on the front desk when checking them out.

As I grew year by year, I continued going to that same library, eventually moving to the "Adults" section in the fifth grade. Unlike my classmates' parents, mine did not have the same fluent English, and so they could never really help me with school reports or reading assignments; it was thanks to the library that I was able to better my vocabulary and writing. I soon found myself passing the reading level of my peers, and without a doubt surpassing them in enthusiasm; while they dreaded picking books for book reports required in English class, I had trouble deciding which book out of the ones I loved to write about! It came to the point where the reading text book we used was pretty simple to me and I relied on my library sprees to give me the mental stimulation I desired.

I was addicted to reading, but I started to especially be fond of certain types of books. I most enjoyed the psychological thrillers, the ones that stayed with you in the night and the next few days after you're finished reading them. I adored science fiction, where observe an author's opinion on what the human thought process would be if extra terrestrials ever arrived. Most of all, I found that books that questioned man's ethic's in certain situations, as well as the mental impact; I still have the book report that my teacher in the 6th grade was so impressed with, after I read "Lord of the Flies". But the overarching characteristic in my favorite books were those that made me think. Those that made me question things I believed in, and through the fictional plot lines changed my perspective of the reality I lived in. It affected the way I started to write and think in my other classes, such as history, religion, and even science. I had become a book addict; I found mini-thunderstorms between each cover of the books I took out, and I would never again be able to tear my eyes away.

I'm not sure if it was fate, or my parents playing some elaborate hoax, but I'm sure that if it weren't for that single strike of lightning and the death of our cable box, I wouldn't be the same person, and I couldn't thank that library enough; I volunteer there to this day in hopes that other people might find the same love of books I did. Those reading skills I acquired as a young child no doubt helped me enter (__gifted program___), irrevocably changing my life by giving me the rare opportunity to go to an independent school with the kind of education and opportunities that would be impossible for my family otherwise. My infatuation with literature has helped me not only in my classes, but wherever I went thereafter, in my leisure time, and are constantly an influence on my ideas. Books have made me a free thinker, and by improving my writing, have given me the tool to express my experiences and thoughts to other people, a more valuable gift than anything, and that tool is the reason you have this essay is your hands. I might not have cable anymore or the latest iphone, but I will always have my reading and writing, and that can never be broken.