A Childhood Love for Reading

I used to love visiting our town’s library every week. I loved it so much that the librarians knew me by name and would often suggest books for me to read. My enthusiasm for reading was well-known, and it was suggested that I enter a regional library reading competition. My grandmother, whom I lived with at the time, accompanied me to the parish capital to compete. 

I was about to enter high school as a preteen. As I began preparing for this new chapter, my focus shifted, and the excitement of the competition faded. Months later, however, I discovered that I had placed second and that my prize had been sent to my grandmother’s home.

Where the Story Takes a Turn

Now, for a little girl who had entered her first-ever competition, finding out that I placed in the top three was incredibly exciting. I was eager to receive my prize and be rewarded for the hard work I had put in, but here is where the story takes a turn. My grandma gave my prize to a relative who attended the same high school as me. She trusted her because I was now in boarding school and no longer living with my grandma, so seeing her was difficult to arrange. 

That relative was entrusted with the responsibility of delivering the prize to me. I cannot say exactly what was going on in her mind; she was just a child herself, but she gave it to another girl in my dorm, assuming the other girl would pass it on to me. I had heard from my mother that a prize was waiting for me at school. There was a monetary portion to it; it wasn’t a large amount, but it was significant for a teenager, and I was looking forward to using it for treats. When I didn’t receive anything, I went to my relative and asked, “What happened? I heard grandma gave the prize to you.” She told me she had given it to my dorm mate and expected her to give it to me. Yet, I still had nothing.

Chasing What Was Mine

I was really concerned because my school had a reputation for items going missing, so I confronted the girl. She gave me some excuse about why she didn’t have the prize. I eventually went to a teacher and an administrator, who investigated the issue. To ensure the girl didn’t get into trouble, the girl gave me half the money while the teacher and admin were watching. The girl then gave a prepared speech saying she would give me the rest later. At the time, I was only a preteen, so everything seemed fine, and I waited for her to give me the remainder. Days passed, and nothing happened. Later, the teacher asked if the girl had given me the remaining money. When I said no, the teacher told me I needed to insist that she had.

The Accountability Gap

It felt strange to put that burden on a child. Besides, the only time the girl took any responsibility was when administrators were present. I’m not sure whether she had stolen the money or simply lost it, but the lack of accountability was disheartening. In truth, it was a cascade of failures: first, my relative failed to deliver the prize as entrusted; then, the classmate who received it didn’t fulfil her responsibility; and finally, even the teachers and administrators only intervened halfway, failing to ensure I actually received the reward I had rightfully earned. 

The significance of that reward ran deep; it was far more than a prize; it was the validation of my dedication and talent. Competing against peers, some of whom seemed more experienced, I refused to be intimidated and instead doubled down on my preparation. Having that hard-earned recognition stripped away without accountability was devastating. Only now, years later, do I fully grasp the weight of that impact and the quiet disappointment I’ve carried since.

I love reading, not just because of the sheer volume of books I consume, but because it moves me to create. I also love the writing process, which deeply connects reading with the act of putting my own creativity out into the world. However, after that experience at school, I didn’t truly pick it back up, at least not in the same way. Years later, I entered an essay competition, but the joy and spark in my eyes that I’d had as a child were gone. It is only now that I realise just how profoundly that event affected me.

Reclaiming the Joy

I’m not casting blame anymore. I am sharing this story to acknowledge that it is now my responsibility to reclaim the joy I have for reading and creating. I want to remind myself and share with you that if an experience has negatively affected your perception of a gift, talent, or hobby, you now have the ability, as an adult, to rewrite your story. Take the time to acknowledge the pain, but choose to forgive and reconnect with the joy you felt before that event. You can even turn that experience into a positive turning point by reflecting on what you learned. For instance, I learned that not everyone will value your hard work and rewards as much as you do. So you must protect them.

If I were a wise and well-meaning adult at the time, I would have stepped in. I would have taken responsibility for ensuring the matter was resolved, but more importantly, I would have sat that girl down and said, “This was an unfortunate event, but the competition itself was a success. You put yourself out there, and it’s clear you have a talent for reading and writing. This is just the beginning.” Even if you didn’t have the guidance you needed in the past, you can offer it to yourself now. Seek it out, and find your way back to the hobbies and talents that you love.