I used to think books were a waste of time. I would argue with people who liked them. I said life was too short to sit and read pages when I could just live and learn by doing. But I was being loud without even knowing what I was rejecting.
The truth is I just never found the kind of book that made sense to me. I thought all books were the same. Heavy, boring, unrealistic. So I dismissed the whole idea of reading like it was a trend I did not care to follow.
One day, I picked up a book just to pass time. It was psychological, but it also had a story. It felt like someone was showing me how a human mind works, through a life, not a theory. That was it for me. I had found my kind of book.
After that, it changed. I looked forward to reading. I wanted more. Not because someone told me I should read, but because I finally understood what it could give me. The kind of reflection, emotion, and insight I never got anywhere else.
I believe everyone will love books. But not the same ones. The key is finding the kind that fits your mind. Some like deep stories. Some want adventure. Some prefer real facts. Some want feeling. It is personal, and it should be.
Once you find your kind, it is not a task anymore. It becomes something you crave quietly. It slows you down in the best way. It adds to you in places you didn’t know were empty.
