As I sit in my room shivering slightly due to the random drop in temperature, I reflect on my summer excursions with my cousin. We acted like tourists for a day and toured the city. One of the places we visited was the Capitol, where I took this picture. Though I know nothing about architecture, I do admire the craft and design of buildings. This one is beautiful.
I refused to read this book at first. Everyone was excited about it, and hyping the story, and saying how great it is to read about children killing each other (my ignorant assumption) that I was turned off from it. My sentiments towards this book back then was similar to how I felt about The Game of Thrones last year, when each person on the metro was glued to a copy of it.
Books that are too hyped and too talked-about turns me off. It makes me see them more as a trend than a really good story that has spell-bounded everyone who glimpses at it. But for some reason, I am always drawn to read them; though it is not of my own volition that this occurs. It is some force outside my being that draws me to Barnes & Noble and makes me pick up the talked-about book, buy it, and read it. Such was the case with The Hunger Games.
One fine Wednesday, I took it upon myself to venture into my favorite Barnes & Noble store and torture myself with indecision before dragging myself home. While perusing the shelves trying to find a novel that will grab-me-and-not-let-go-until-done, I was ambushed by a bookseller who raved about The Hunger Games fanaticism before dragging me over to the “best sellers” section where she pulled a copy of the novel, shove it into my unwilling hands, and commanded me, “Read!”