I have nurtured you for the last six weeks, gazing at you and your little penguin icon: its symbol the promise of my re-education.

We had our first encounter in high school. You mocked me, and my ignorance. I read your words but failed to understand their meaning. Only later I would learn of my error, but time has allowed the opportunity for a correction, and within your pages is the possibility to amend the mistake of my past.

On our first meeting, I was a teenage girl with a life as complicated as your main protagonist’s, and at that time my education seemed insignificant.

Many years had passed when I glimpsed you again in the bookshop. Your orange cover spoke of thinkers, knowledge, poets and literature; though, each time I would pass you by and engage with something more contemporary.

Over time the chasm between my teenage and adult self grew, until one day when I lingered in your section. The moment had arrived and I made my purchase: Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina. In contrast, unlike Anna’s descent into hopelessness, I realised that I had also purchased the promise of my own reprieve.

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