Ninth grade came and went and every time I entered the library it was to read so I would be better prepared for class. The rest of high school only got worse.[break]
During college years, I spent entire summers trying to catch up with my peers by reading “intelligent” books - ones that made me seem smarter as I propped it on cafe tables and lugged it around with me to the beach.
Soon, “light reading” ceased to exist, as I became heavily influenced by an exceptionally brilliant classmate who humbly claimed that there were just too many books and too little space in his head to be filled with nonsense - he said he only read works of non-fiction that had been revered.
Needless to say, somewhere along the line, I too brushed aside all books that did not appear to make me smarter.
Hence, mysterious arrivals of entire stacks of such books were dismissed as “not worth reading” - I had a serious lot to tackle this year anyways.
But Arabella Weir’s “Does My Bum Look Big in This?” haunted me. I guiltily carried it from the dining room and placed it on my bookshelf - at the bottom, so I would not be tempted. But between beige hard-covers that sometimes displayed long titles with words I often had trouble pronouncing, the hot pink in comparison was simply irresistible.
One fine uninspiring day, I gave in to my temptations just after waking up, and didn’t put it down until lunch time rolled around. The laugh-out-loud novel written as though by a stereotypical weight conscious woman, as expected, revolved around her disillusionment with her body.
Under the impression that she had nothing less than the girth of a hippopotamus, she wrote depressive and hilarious descriptions of herself. Bordering between pathetic and outrageous I was unable to distance myself from the pages.
I’m still confused about the message - we’re not as fat as we think we are, maybe. But it was an enjoyable read. Simple and straightforward, it was relaxing, to say the least. As I finally put the book down before dinner I sighed - had I “stupid-ified” myself and had wasted my time or had it been worth it?
My brain cells tickled for such light reads. Finally, I proceeded to pick up Mike Gayle’s “The To-Do List”. As a diagnosed victim of the to-do list - wherein the sufferer is obliged to draw a to-do list before they get up to do anything, I knew I’d enjoy the book.
Not surprisingly, I did. It depicted the personal journal of a 30-something year old “boy” determined to tackle a 1277 list of to-do’s that he was convinced, would usher him into true “adulthood”.
As a 20-something girl, (read: not adult) I totally knew what he was getting at. With a looming list constantly hanging over my head like a noose there is always something to be done; degrees to obtain, career ladders to climb and maturity to attain.
Gayle offered a simple reminder that while he spent a year ticking one to-do after another - he learnt important lessons of valuing family, friendship and living his life.
Bottom line; don’t drop books that stimulate you intellectually, but once in a while do trade them for ones that put a smile on your face.
Light reads may not expand your vocabulary or challenge your perspective, but they may remind you that neither your physical features nor your worldly accomplishments are everything - and that’s the kind of wisdom we miss with knowledge-gaining reads.
More of nepaliketi can be found at nepaliket.net.
Related story
Miss Bum Bum 2015
