Reading, innately possessed by one and all, is an art of immense significance. Although I've encountered youngsters grappling with literacy challenges during my stints in hospital wards, they exhibit a commendable degree of reading prowess. Through patient nurturing and diligent training, a child's reading acumen can steadily ascend. Thus, for me, no instrument surpasses the written word in conveying information.
Many a time, the potency of language is overlooked, yet its influence is profound. Words serve as conduits of knowledge, catalysts for societal fervour and ideation, and engines of revolution, shaping the narrative of generations and often eclipsing their true history.
The realm of literature never fails to captivate my soul, for it houses a plethora of treasures. Reading, akin to diving, sees us frolicking in shallow waters in our youth, constrained by our limited capacities. However, as we mature and accumulate experience, we attain knowledge and skills, enabling us to plumb the depths of literary seas with newfound freedom.
Extended immersion in the ocean often breeds humility, a stark realisation of one's insignificance. Merely accumulating volumes does not equate to intellectual richness; indeed, it can breed arrogance, where one fancies oneself superior to others. This folly is akin to stumbling upon a seashell and proclaiming oneself a tycoon. Such conceit is nothing short of ludicrous.
Reading serves to enrich our cognitive horizons and augment individual capacities, but it also demands heightened awareness. While readers may perch atop intellectual pedestals, their vista extends far beyond, revealing the stark reality of human frailty. Not every terrain warrants unbridled exploration, and such is the trajectory of life.
Life's finite nature is marked by a predetermined count, akin to the beats of one's heart. The "little chap" nestled within one's chest will inevitably tire, his rhythmic cadence eventually ceasing. Thus, it becomes imperative to select our literary pursuits judiciously and tread our paths with due care. There are occasions when I bemoan life's brevity; books once glanced at, now discerned as treasure troves, but alas, time and inclination have waned.
Though antiquity espouses, "A humble abode suffices, for within books lies a trove of gold," I dissent. Not every nugget of wisdom finds a place in our pockets, nor does every treasure serve our interests; words can be benevolent or malevolent. The delineation between good and evil is subjective, yet not every tome warrants perusal. Certain works have the potential to warp our perceptions, obscuring our grasp of reality. Ergo, while reading is imperative, so too is cogitation.
True reading transcends mere absorption; it necessitates contemplation, akin to savouring a sumptuous repast. Reading is ingestion, while cogitation constitutes digestion. Thus, reading and thinking must coexist, just as ingestion and digestion foster growth.
Lastly, while literature enriches our life experiences and kindles inspiration through others' narratives, we mustn't succumb solely to the pleasures of reading. At times, we must emerge from our sanctuaries and embrace the world beyond. For as the sands of time trickle away, amidst our literary pursuits, let us not forget the ceaseless ebb and flow of existence, as we continue to draw breath in this ever-evolving cosmos.
ns 18.68.41.147da2
