Skimming through the pages of the book, I felt completely content. This was where it was all at. The wafts of my afternoon dinner was coming towards me in waves. Indulging myself into each page of my book, the smells of spices mixed together with my imagination that was far off in the world of words … this was home. I sat on a corner sofa next to the window that allowed me to overlook the New York traffic. I wasn’t surprised to find that it already was drizzling. Knowing how strange the weather had been lately, I wouldn’t be surprised if it started hailing.
The novel I was reading was called Zink by Cherie Bennet, and it was different. The main character fought for something that wasn’t too conventional in my eyes. It was about a war between a girl and Leukemia. The book was definitely something unfamiliar to me because, I, a twelve year girl had never thought in her wildest dreams the depth and pain a chronic illness could bring to someone. The main character, a girl named Becky, was completely immersed in the difficulties of cancer that appeared almost out of the blue. I discovered that my life was a complete contrast to the novel,
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The first time I ever cried for a death. A death of a girl that didn’t exist in real life but in the lives of the countless children that had to deal with the traumatizing ordeal every single day. At that point I finally understood that growing up didn’t mean being old, getting a job and living your life with responsibilities. Growing up actually meant possessing and learning to cope with knowledge and death. It was finally understanding the real value of life, love, happiness, fear, understanding, commitment, and loss. I grew up after reading that book. I knew this when I realized I cried more for Becky than my own grandmother when she was admit into the intensive care unit with tubes down her throat due to a pneumonia attack. As it drizzled that day I understood not even the weather worked with complete