Since I started Uni, I’ve begun to realise that going to a private all-boys school, one of the top academic schools in the state, was definitely a privilege. But when I actually attended school, it felt more of a demand. I was excited to attend this college, I really was. But the choices I made, and the things I did during my high school years made it just that little bit more grueling.

I used to be an avid reader when I was in Primary School. When friends were bringing in 100-page books with medium-sized font in Grade 1, I lugged along a 400+ page hardcover of Star Wars Episode 1: The Phantom Menace in my bag. I was just that type of kid. At that age I loved to read. I went to the library all the time, spending my days off reading, finishing off a book and diving straight into the next. My Godmother sent me the first two books of Harry Potter from London before they were released in Australia, and I devoured them. Then the buzz started and I felt happy that I had read them already. Grade 2 and 3 were filled with reading the books together in class although I had already, having a week dedicated to Harry, and going to watch the films. It was the life! And even the MS (Multiple Sclerosis) readathon was personal favourite.

But when year 7 hit, I fell into that gaming craze. I began playing World of Warcraft. I’ll admit it was addictive. Late nights playing online, my studies were left to the last minute; the only time to read was on the train, to and from school. I was glad my school had a good reading program for Years 7 and 8 in English where a class every week was dedicated to going into the library and reading, being tracked on our progress and the books we read. And still I played the silly games through to Year 9 and 10 where then I quit them, months later picking the old habits as I had nothing else to do in my spare time; reading had become a distant memory. Something I loved to do to escape and be immersed in was substituted by a game that had escape but in a more virtual sense, more social, less real.

It wasn’t until when Year 11 & 12 rolled around, my VCE, that I quit for good as I realized my wrongs. Those years spent on said games damaged my growth as a student, and as someone who was creative in a way my family hadn’t seen before. I missed that opportunity to be great in my studies. I tried to regain that composure. And it wasn’t until a term into Year 12 where I found that passion of reading again. I missed that thrill.

Year 12 was so arduous that you can really lose yourself mentally and physically. In Psychology during the unit of memory, I was very interested in this story about Clive Wearing’s complete loss of memory, and his love for his wife Deborah. I thought that that would be a fabulous basis for a musical. So I went in search for Deborah Wearing’s memoir. I did find it in Borders, but as I searched in Angus & Robertson, I found myself immersed by all these books again. This distant memory of mine flooded me; it returned. I saw this title on the Adult shelves: it had a great cover, an interesting concept; it was Siege by Jack Hight. I read this book and absolutely loved it. From that moment I fell in love with reading again.
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