Something about “words, words, words” became boring, boring, boring along the way. If I had to pinpoint the moment that I fell out of love with reading, it would have to be seventh grade.

My middle school had two higher-learning – or advanced – options. There was an option for students who excelled in STEM, and another for students who excelled in humanities. Instead of taking two electives, I opted for more reading and enrolled in the humanities course. My elementary school self was squealing with joy, as I had raked my way through all of Rick Riordan’s catalog one weekend and read Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire four times through. I had always been fond of reading, and I hoped that this class would only excel me further into my reading frenzy and introduce me to new books.

We read books like The Outsiders and The Phantom of the Opera, both of which continued to pique my reading interest. I would walk out of the classroom feeling refreshed and like I had learned something new. Everyone in the class was like-minded about literature, excited to learn and share their findings with the rest of the class. Or maybe they really just had a soft spot for Ponyboy. Later in the same day, I would attend regular classes, which felt off for me. Nobody seemed to care about reading as I had.

It began to feel like a chore instead of something of pure enjoyment. School made it feel like reading was a punishment, and that has been something that I have attempted to flush from my system since middle school. The most difficult part about growing up has been the ebbs and flows of my relationship with reading. I suppose that’s why I enjoy writing more recently.

Over the past few thousand years, literature has served two very important functions: to entertain and to convey information.

As we enter the 21st century, these two functions still exist, but we can find a better way. Games, movies, TV shows, etc. can bring us more direct and intense sensory stimulation, thus giving us greater pleasure. The Internet is far more efficient in transmitting information than traditional literature. So does this mean that literature has lost its value? I don’t think so.

Firstly, literature can improve our personal qualities. Reading a long work is a long process, you need patience and perseverance, also at some point to overcome their laziness. Even short works or poems can make you feel the beauty of different genres. In addition, no matter what type of work you read, you need a strong empathic ability to understand the feelings of the author or the main character, and when you gradually have this ability, you will be able to make more and more friends in your real life and gain their respect.

Literature also allows us to understand the world in a more systematic way. A news article, a message, a blog …… The delivery of information in these ways is extremely efficient, but if you only read these things every day, then in the long run your mind is likely to be a mess because they are fragmented and it’s hard for you to make connections between them (Some of the information is even contradictory to each other). But a work of literature, complete and continuous reflects a certain era, a person’s journey, a big event …… When you know enough, you can naturally draw a net in your head, and then you may have your own way of knowing the world.

As a kid never saw myself writing or reading for fun. Instead, I remember sitting in the back of my grandma’s car while she called out words for me to spell back to her. The back of my throat would burn while tears welled in my eyes. I hated grammar and spelling, and it seemed like it hated me back. The words never became easier for me. Every time I saw her, she would torture me with words like “precise” and “announce”. Over and over, time and time again, I would fail. When she babysat me, I would stare outside while she reviewed my homework. Longing to leave the kitchen counter to go run and play with my neighbors until dusk.

 The words never magically clicked like all of the other kids in my class. Red marks still slashed across my page during spelling tests while my friends were moving forward. I was drawn to picture books and graphic novels while they were reading Nancy Drew and Goosebumps. It didn’t click in middle school or even high school. Not until I came to Wooster. Reading for my environmental classes didn’t seem like work. It was beautiful and engaging, and for the first time I read every single page. I wrote my thoughts down in the margins and absorbed every word. Writing papers became easy, even entertaining at times. Finally, I felt like was on pace with my classmates. Participating in discussion, asking questions. My exams and writing didn’t have red marker scribbled across the front. Writing and reading became part of my life, a part I had never connected with before. The deep sense of dread I use to feel in those car rides is replaced with a newfound perspective.