sagewise
Sep 25, 2014
Undergraduate / Autobiography of myself as a reader - Syracuse University Common App [3]
(any help with this essay would be greatly appreciated!!)
I found it in a dusty corner in the basement of my aunts house in Chicago. Its binding was tattered and its front cover had coffee cup rings across the title. Pages were turned down on the top and lines were highlighted and old post-its were crumpled haphazardly in between chapters. Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West by Gregory Maguire, was across the front cover in dark green coloring. It was love at first sight. Even though I was thirteen years old, the thickness of the book, or the small font did not deter me from picking it up and dropping it in my suitcase to bring back to New York. I already had a plan to read the book on my later flight back home and to finish it before school started so I could tell my friends. Little did I know that I wouldn't be able to discuss the whole book until the end of my junior year in high school. This was one of the most engrossing and frustrating books I have ever had the pleasure of reading; To this day, it is the only book that has made me question myself as a reader and why I find joy behind it.
At thirteen I always had a book in my hand, I didn't have a ipod or a phone, so a good book was my source of entertainment for a long time. Seeing the cover of Wicked, was like seeing the source of my entertainment and comfort for the next month. I knew that every time I was bored, on the train or just in my bedroom, I had something new and exciting to do everytime I opened the book to a new page. But there was one small problem, I never counted on the book that I regarded in such high esteem would be the source of my boredom! It was unbearable, I didn't know what to do. This has never happened to me, I didn't understand the plot , and the vocabulary was on such another level, it could have been in a different language and I wouldn't have known. I was completely disappointed with not just the book, but myself as a reader. The genre of the book was fantasy and is a prequel to the Wizard of Oz, both of those facts, was what had made me so excited to read the book. At thirteen I was not able to comprehend the complexities of the characters, plots, and themes of the book. I thought that because the Wizard of Oz was a children's tale, then the prequel would be on the same level, difficulty wise, but I couldn't have been more wrong. Weeks turned into months, and beforea1 I knew it over a year had gone by, and Wicked had remained in a dusty corner in my basement, exactly the way I found it. It was the first time that I was annoyed at a book, so much that reading became a hassle and was no longer worth it. I officially became a part of the DNF (did-not-finish) group on goodreads, and I hated it.
Fast forward to the summer of 2014. I was cleaning my room, replacing my clothes and mopping the floors when I saw the same book from years before that caused me such anguish. I picked it up, wondering what on earth made my younger self stop reading this book. Refusing to leave it unfinished and determined to see the characters to the end, I picked it up once more, forgot my cleaning, and relaxed outside on the courtyard. It was like magic, how fast the book grabbed me in and how quick I understood the characters. Maybe over the course of the two years that I didn't read the book, I matured as a reader, and graduated to books with characters, themes, and plots that had more depth to them. It felt so gratifying to finally understand the motives behind each characters, some of the themes that were based on United States history, jokes and sexual innuendos that I didn't know were there before. I had successfully finished what I had started two years prior, and with one click, I went from the DNF group to Finished and reviewing.
It took two attempts over the span of three years for me to finish my favorite book. Its the only book that had me feeling aggravated and enlightened at the same time. I was able to see my evolution as a reader, as I got to better understand and evaluate the subliminal messages the author was portraying about racism, infidelity, sexism, and corrupt governments. At thirteen I strove for the stars but fell at the clouds when I tried to read this book, but when I decided to try again two years later I realized that, it takes a mature mind, a fresh look, to fully succeed and finish a job. Wicked no longer collecting dust in my basement, representing my failure, but residing atop my bookshelf, reminding me everyday that looking at things with new attitudes and point of views are advantageous for all activities in life. My next book, you might ask, well I saw "The man in my basement" by Walter Mosley in my fathers house, maybe if I am lucky I can finish it before my freshman year of college.
(any help with this essay would be greatly appreciated!!)
I found it in a dusty corner in the basement of my aunts house in Chicago. Its binding was tattered and its front cover had coffee cup rings across the title. Pages were turned down on the top and lines were highlighted and old post-its were crumpled haphazardly in between chapters. Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West by Gregory Maguire, was across the front cover in dark green coloring. It was love at first sight. Even though I was thirteen years old, the thickness of the book, or the small font did not deter me from picking it up and dropping it in my suitcase to bring back to New York. I already had a plan to read the book on my later flight back home and to finish it before school started so I could tell my friends. Little did I know that I wouldn't be able to discuss the whole book until the end of my junior year in high school. This was one of the most engrossing and frustrating books I have ever had the pleasure of reading; To this day, it is the only book that has made me question myself as a reader and why I find joy behind it.
At thirteen I always had a book in my hand, I didn't have a ipod or a phone, so a good book was my source of entertainment for a long time. Seeing the cover of Wicked, was like seeing the source of my entertainment and comfort for the next month. I knew that every time I was bored, on the train or just in my bedroom, I had something new and exciting to do everytime I opened the book to a new page. But there was one small problem, I never counted on the book that I regarded in such high esteem would be the source of my boredom! It was unbearable, I didn't know what to do. This has never happened to me, I didn't understand the plot , and the vocabulary was on such another level, it could have been in a different language and I wouldn't have known. I was completely disappointed with not just the book, but myself as a reader. The genre of the book was fantasy and is a prequel to the Wizard of Oz, both of those facts, was what had made me so excited to read the book. At thirteen I was not able to comprehend the complexities of the characters, plots, and themes of the book. I thought that because the Wizard of Oz was a children's tale, then the prequel would be on the same level, difficulty wise, but I couldn't have been more wrong. Weeks turned into months, and beforea1 I knew it over a year had gone by, and Wicked had remained in a dusty corner in my basement, exactly the way I found it. It was the first time that I was annoyed at a book, so much that reading became a hassle and was no longer worth it. I officially became a part of the DNF (did-not-finish) group on goodreads, and I hated it.
Fast forward to the summer of 2014. I was cleaning my room, replacing my clothes and mopping the floors when I saw the same book from years before that caused me such anguish. I picked it up, wondering what on earth made my younger self stop reading this book. Refusing to leave it unfinished and determined to see the characters to the end, I picked it up once more, forgot my cleaning, and relaxed outside on the courtyard. It was like magic, how fast the book grabbed me in and how quick I understood the characters. Maybe over the course of the two years that I didn't read the book, I matured as a reader, and graduated to books with characters, themes, and plots that had more depth to them. It felt so gratifying to finally understand the motives behind each characters, some of the themes that were based on United States history, jokes and sexual innuendos that I didn't know were there before. I had successfully finished what I had started two years prior, and with one click, I went from the DNF group to Finished and reviewing.
It took two attempts over the span of three years for me to finish my favorite book. Its the only book that had me feeling aggravated and enlightened at the same time. I was able to see my evolution as a reader, as I got to better understand and evaluate the subliminal messages the author was portraying about racism, infidelity, sexism, and corrupt governments. At thirteen I strove for the stars but fell at the clouds when I tried to read this book, but when I decided to try again two years later I realized that, it takes a mature mind, a fresh look, to fully succeed and finish a job. Wicked no longer collecting dust in my basement, representing my failure, but residing atop my bookshelf, reminding me everyday that looking at things with new attitudes and point of views are advantageous for all activities in life. My next book, you might ask, well I saw "The man in my basement" by Walter Mosley in my fathers house, maybe if I am lucky I can finish it before my freshman year of college.
