An inseparable love of reading
Wen Shu Ren Jing
The books are amorous like the old people, and the morning and evening are sad and happy every blind date. Reading for me is a pleasure, a kind of enjoyment, a kind of acquisition.
The first book I read was Zhao Shuli's "Three Mile Bay", when I was 8 years old, with a pigtail and a bright red head rope, bouncing around to play with Haifeng. On the windowsill of her house, there was a thick book, and I picked it up casually and was attracted by the beginning of the story. Finally I exchanged my beloved toy watch for one night. The book was printed in traditional Chinese, and there were many unknown words that could only be read according to the meaning of the text. There was a 15-watt light bulb hanging in the middle of the roof, and in the dim light, I scanned the words on the book without looking up, and the smell of books wafted through the room. The next day, when the first rays of morning light shone on the curtains, I finally finished reading. I felt exhausted, but in a good mood, and my mind was filled with clear literary sunshine. After returning the book, for a long time I was immersed in memories, lying on the hot kang at night, I did not sleep, in the dark to recall those interesting character nicknames: often reasonable, confused, turned high... Memory carefully runs over every shiny detail. Since then, yam egg school writer Zhao Shuli has become a high benchmark in my life, guiding the direction of my life. I didn't even know the sky high to fantasize about growing up to be him, and write about the people and things around me vividly in the book.
The memory clearly preserves a period of time in the old house to read. In her later years, my grandmother lived in an old house of her family. The family had worked in the capital for many years, and the once warm home had been abandoned. There are two kangs in this old house, and the kang that enters the door in front of me is where my grandmother and I live. The shop in the palm of the house was full of miscellaneous items, the items used by the family before they left, the clay bowl used to hold the oil, the cloth tiger and sheep bones that the children had played with, and the most pleasing thing to me was that there was a pile of old books and newspapers in the corner of the house. There, I read "Three Thousand Miles of Rivers and Mountains", "Song of Ouyang Hai", "Red Flag Spectrum", "History of Entrepreneurship", "Armed Workers Behind Enemy Lines", "The Adventures of Xiao Butou", and a book with yellow pages, no cover and back cover, no beginning and end, I did not know the title of the book, nor did I know the author, and vaguely remembered that some Stories of Tibet were written in it. I regret that the page is broken, and the story ends abruptly before it can end, leaving a blank and suspenseful place. Based on the general content of the previous, I fully expanded my imagination and came up with N endings for the story.
My grandmother's old house was not energized, and every night, I had to read under the kerosene lamp for a long time, and my grandmother would sit under the lamp and take a nap against the cover and read with me. At that time, once I was immersed in interesting stories, I couldn't help myself, sometimes in tears, sometimes laughing, and my grandmother, who was napping, seemed to be frightened and looked up in confusion. Later, I learned that my grandmother's reason for insisting on not sleeping was that she was afraid that I would be burned by candles and burn my hair, or drizzled with kerosene. Grandma quietly watched a bean light, watching the intersection of her granddaughter's dreams. Grandma's old house, because of the strong smell of books, in the eyes of the young granddaughter, is so golden and brilliant, people linger.
The first time I bought a book, I slapped my mother. I was ten years old that year. In early summer, the family invited two carpenters to make furniture, and the flour in the house was finished. My mother couldn't leave, so she sent me to the city to buy flour. Along the way, I squeezed the 10 yuan sent by my mother tightly, afraid of losing it. I went to the grain store to weigh 10 pounds of flour, bought a few pounds of freshly listed melons, and saw that there was still a slight saving on hand, so I went to Xinhua Bookstore on my own initiative to buy a comic strip "The Little Girl Who Sold Matches". I was very excited that day, carrying more than ten pounds of weight for thirty miles, and I didn't feel tired. Every time I was in the middle of a break, I had to pull out the comic strip and read a few pages with hunger. When I got home, my mother asked me for the rest of the money, and I was dumbfounded. When my mother learned that I had actually bought a "spare book", she was so angry that she slapped it. The kind carpenter master advised the mother: "It is good to love to read, and this child will definitely have a future appearance!" The mother probably believed the carpenter's prophecy and finally stopped her anger.
When I was in the fifth grade, my father transferred me to the city to study, and I have had more opportunities to study ever since. One day, my classmates and I went to the bookstore to buy study materials and saw many people reading quietly. I took out a copy of "Journey to the West" in my hand, carefully flipped through the pages, gradually attracted by the story in the book, read and read unconsciously turned over a dozen pages, suddenly looked up to see the female clerk staring at me deadly, I blushed, and quickly put the book back in place like a thief. Along the way, I struggled to remember the page number, afraid of forgetting it. After going several times in a row, I was finally recognized by the female clerk who saw through the "trick" and taught me a harsh lesson. I wiped my tears and left the bookstore with infinite attachment. Touching my own shriveled pockets, looking at my father's equally parched pockets, I sighed helplessly for a long time.
During those hard reading hours, I made a lot of reading notes, and these notebooks are still preserved today. Most of the time, I just copied the wonderful words and sentences in the book, and applied various character descriptions to the composition, and then, my composition was fortunate to be read by the teacher as a model text in the class every time, in the envious eyes of the classmates, in the teacher's "vivid description, fluent language" evaluation, my enthusiasm for reading was even higher.
Searching for everything to read, I often bask in indescribable happiness.
I approached every book with an almost pilgrimage mentality, gently dusted off the thick dust on the book cover, carefully turned the pages, for fear of rolling up the corners of the book, defacing the cover, and often wrapping the cover in kraft paper before reading a new book.
Immersed in the fragrance of books, it is as if you raise a glass to the moon with hundreds of close friends, and talk on your knees, as if there are drops of clear tea to moisturize your lungs. The faint fragrance of books dispels the fatigue and troubles of the body and mind, the tediousness and strife of the world, and I draw rich knowledge from the books, giving the spirit nourishment and nourishment, and always maintaining the youthful vitality of upward mobility.
Ren Jing, female, is a member of the Shaanxi Provincial Writers Association and the Shaanxi Youth Literature Association, and now lives in the ancient city of Xi'an. He is the author of the essay collection "Sleep with Your Name", "Want a Mountain", the novella "Floating Life", "Quenching", the novella "Jin Feng's Life Year", "The Ballad of Yunshui", "No One", etc., and has published more than 3 million words of prose, short stories, and poems.
One point number Wenfeng Mountain Wenyuan