Books That Changed The Way You View Life นิยาย & เรื่องราว

I said, grinning from teeth to teeth like a child. We walked into the library. It looked like it had been a while, since it was in use. We went through several sections which included, finance, self-improvement, ethics, business amongst all. I caught a glimpse of a book I had been wanting to read, “Atomic Habits” by James Clear. I picked it immediately, and started going through it. After a while, I noticed I wasn't hearing any sound from the cook. I looked around and found her wiping tears off her eyes with the hem of her apron.

Is he gone again? I sighed. I get up to get ready for school and the first thing I do is to keep my bed in good condition. Last night, I remember as I fell asleep, he stayed. Guess I need to make myself always ready to accept that God always disappears and comes back whenever he likes to. But what if he is not coming back? I feel an ache in my chest, as if I was suffocated by its bitterness. Come now. Wake up. I said to myself, patting my cheeks. You are both in a different world. And you are just a puny human. Forget about that. Try to change the view and feel someone who is more human.

I looked at the sets of books that cost me thousands of dollars, and hundreds of hours just to read all of them. “Yeah, Izzy,” I said as I grabbed the set of Percy Jackson Books by Rick Riordan, and I could almost feel tears form in my eyes, “these books seem like they’re harmless, but I know in myself what they do to me, and I know how much these books affect me spiritually. I need to let go of these books and set myself free from myself and my addiction.”

Sean barreled toward me, shoving the divorce agreement against my chest. His face twisted with anger. "Martha sacrificed a golden ticket to study abroad just to marry you. She loved you deeply. Now that she is ill, you're abandoning her and your daughter? Don't call yourself a man!" I faced his outburst with cool amusement. "How is my split from my wife any of your business?" Spittle flew from Sean's lips as he seized my collar, bellowing, "You're blind to your privilege. How much cash have you guzzled down for your comatose mother? Don't you have a conscience? Without Martha's help, she would have been long gone."

She did the same for him. One evening, as they walked through the city, Grace noticed a small bookstore she had never seen before. They went in on impulse. The space was narrow, warm, filled with the smell of paper and dust. Grace wandered the aisles slowly. She picked up a novel, then another. She realized she had not read fiction in months. Everything she consumed had been functional. Informational. Necessary. She chose a book without overthinking it. At home later, she read until midnight. The story was ordinary, human, unresolved. She loved it. When she closed the book, she felt something shift. She was no longer only responding to the world. She was engaging with it for pleasure again.

The first message from a reader came that evening. Not a review — a message. Someone who had read the book, or begun reading it, and had written to her through the website Leo had built. A short message. Six sentences. She read it at her desk after dinner. I read the first three chapters of your book on the train home tonight. I had to stop because I was crying and I didn’t want the other passengers to see. I’m not sure why I’m writing to you. I think it’s because the book made me feel like my life was possible. Not my specific life — I live very differently from you. But the quality of the choosing. The daily, deliberate choosing. I didn’t know other people did that. Thank you.

Because talking was what the chair and the three in the morning and the small person in my arms required and I was learning to give what the moment required without deliberating too long about whether it was the right thing. It was always the right thing. "I know you cannot hear or understand anything yet," I said. Quietly. The specific low voice I had found somewhere in the first days that existed for her specifically and for no other context. "The books say you cannot. I have read four of them." Hope made a small sound. "But I want you to know something," I said. "You have already changed everything about how I understand what matters. You have been here eleven days. Eleven days and the en

she asked, with the genuine, focused curiosity she brought to things she actually wanted to know. I told her. She listened with the complete, attentive quality she gave things that mattered, and when I'd finished, she was quiet for a moment. "That's the right book," she said. "The first one changed how people who already had choices thought about their choices. This one might change whether people who don't think they have choices understand that they do." I looked at her, feeling the specific, overwhelming pride that her particular quality of understanding reliably produced. "Yes," I said. "That's exactly it."