When I think back to the first time I shot up a book, I always wonder why I didn't start earlier. I had been frequenting this store that has a book section and I admired the neat shelves stacked with a myriad of hardcovers and paperbacks with their new-book smells and smooth texture. I hadn't worked up the nerves to actually buy one. I was fresh out of college and I didn't have enough money to support my habit. Of course that was back when I was under the impression that food and clothes came before books. Now I know better!
After the first couple of pay checks I made up my mind and on the next visit to that store, reluctantly, I bought my first book. It wasn't the first book I read in my life, nor do I count it among the 112 books I've read in the past years, but I clearly recall the tiny part of my brain that sparked with the light of knowledge after I turned the last page on that book. More importantly, I remember the euphoria that gripped me upon realizing that I stumbled on a treasure that I will spend a life time consuming and will never even scratch its surface.
Needless to say, with my next pay check came another book; a more expensive one, because it was bigger.
My name is Mohammed, and I'm a book addict.
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