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I
read. I read books, posters, and signs. I read from right to left easily as if I
were reading from left to right. I read until I am too enraptured in a world of
lost history or of that of the make believe. I read until my eyes become
nothing more than dull and unlighted windows, through which I can barely see. The
words no longer words but pictures that paint the unthinkable.

I
love to read each evening right after sunset. My heart races at the thought of
the words coming to life. My imagination dances as it vividly runs wild. As I read
I can breathe, I can see, I transform.

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Falling
in love with words happened early in life. I was passionate about reading
before I could ever read. Reading an encyclopedia represents, for me, the
culmination of countless hours of deciphering definitions and difficult word
phrases. In this metaphysical moment, though, when I read in the comfort and
solitude of my own personal space, I reference not the thought of the thick
volumes of text that I plumage through, but rather the tombs of knowledge hidden
deep inside of each passage that I unearth. I read peacefully for hours with no
end in sight, with nothing on my mind other than creating a beautiful and
memorable experience of each passage I read. I delve deeper into the words
their meanings saturate my mind.

There
is something invigorating in being reborn through a great read. It is almost
mystical. I leave my body and dwell in a world of literary suspense, emotion,
knowledge and power. Hours, days sometimes weeks I spend traveling in books as
a wayfarer in a strange but welcoming land. My pursuit is endless, yet
ultimately satisfying. These words hold knowledge, wisdom and understanding.

As
a child growing up in my grandparents’ home I would stand and look in awe of my
grandfather’s book shelf in the hallway. So many books it contained, they still
stand firm to this day in grand splendor. One summer I decided to borrow The Rainmaker. It was through this novel
which my obsession with words transformed into something more. I lived through
Rudy, I became him. His struggle was mine and his successes were my greatest
accomplishments. I slowly grew from obsessing over words into becoming enamored
with the beauty and structure of law. I found uncharted passion in oral
argument. When I first engaged in reading much of Grishams’ work I felt an
intensified explosion of passion and desire. I was heavily enchanted with every
aspect that a young struggling Rudy represented.

I
can never give back the beautiful experience of reading The Rainmaker, nor do I desire to. Reading about a young man fresh
out of law school struggling to gain a conceptual understanding of the world in
which he lived, captivated me. 

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