What if you read a book once that was written with words that felt so real that you thought you were in the book? Reading page by page and thinking about yourself stuck in the book instead of the main character. You flip the pages of the book and finally reach the last one and wonder if you really want to finish the book, and once you do you can't stop thinking about it at night when you try to go to sleep. And the next day, once you wake up and meet up with people, you can't stop talking about the book you just read. Has that every happened to you or am I the only mad person who obsesses with books?
The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini is one of the best books I've read. Before going to a get together with all my friends Valentina asked if she could come over in order for us to drive there together, I agreed and an hour after that she came to my house. On our way there she started talking about this amazing book that she was reading. Like her, I use to be eager to read all the time and would spend hours on end viciously addicted to the powerful words that I kept on reading in different books. But unlike Valentina, my obsession over reading was long gone because I was always busy reading books for school and barely had any time to read for myself. But somehow, Valentina found her own time. She started narrating the plot of the book and as she did I could see power right through her eyes. And hearing every precise word come out of her mouth I realized that this was a book I wanted to read. I asked where I could get a copy and she told me she took hers from the library. Although I love the library, I like to have my own copy of a book so that I can highlight powerful words or statements.
I eagerly waited and a month after that I flew to Miami and bought my very own copy of the book. My eyes were glued on it for about a week and when I finally finished it, I was speechless.
"I know," he said, breaking our embrace. "Inshallah, we'll celebrate later. Right now, I'm going to run that blue kite for you," he said. He dropped the spool and took off running, the hem of his green chapan dragging in the snow behind him.
"Hassan!" I called. "Come back with it!"
He was already turning the street corner, his rubber boots kicking up snow. He stopped, turned. He cupped his hands around his mouth. "For you a thousand times over!" he said. Then he smiled his Hassan smile and disappeared around the corner. The next time I saw him smile unabashedly like that was twenty-six years later, in a faded Polaroid photograph."
The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini is one of the best books I've read. Before going to a get together with all my friends Valentina asked if she could come over in order for us to drive there together, I agreed and an hour after that she came to my house. On our way there she started talking about this amazing book that she was reading. Like her, I use to be eager to read all the time and would spend hours on end viciously addicted to the powerful words that I kept on reading in different books. But unlike Valentina, my obsession over reading was long gone because I was always busy reading books for school and barely had any time to read for myself. But somehow, Valentina found her own time. She started narrating the plot of the book and as she did I could see power right through her eyes. And hearing every precise word come out of her mouth I realized that this was a book I wanted to read. I asked where I could get a copy and she told me she took hers from the library. Although I love the library, I like to have my own copy of a book so that I can highlight powerful words or statements.
I eagerly waited and a month after that I flew to Miami and bought my very own copy of the book. My eyes were glued on it for about a week and when I finally finished it, I was speechless.
"I know," he said, breaking our embrace. "Inshallah, we'll celebrate later. Right now, I'm going to run that blue kite for you," he said. He dropped the spool and took off running, the hem of his green chapan dragging in the snow behind him.
"Hassan!" I called. "Come back with it!"
He was already turning the street corner, his rubber boots kicking up snow. He stopped, turned. He cupped his hands around his mouth. "For you a thousand times over!" he said. Then he smiled his Hassan smile and disappeared around the corner. The next time I saw him smile unabashedly like that was twenty-six years later, in a faded Polaroid photograph."