Bethrand Chibuike @betty

It was a bright and sunny day, and my elder brother suggested that we go to the neighborhood swimming pool for some fun. I had never gone swimming before, but it looked so easy, watching others glide through the water. I was excited to give it a try.

As soon as we arrived at the pool, I couldn't wait to jump in. I watched my friends and even younger kids swimming so effortlessly, and I thought to myself, "I can do that too!" Without a second thought, I leaped into the water, creating a big splash that drew the attention of all the people around.

I tried to move my arms and legs the way I had seen others do, but I just couldn't seem to get the hang of it. I was flinging my arms back and forth, thinking I was swimming, but everyone else was just standing there, watching me and giggling.

After what felt like a long time, I finally stood up, feeling a bit embarrassed. That's when I realized that I hadn't moved at all. I had been in one spot the whole time, flapping my arms and legs, thinking I was swimming.

With time, I improved. I learnt that the legs flapped in a unique pattern while the arms stretched forward sharply and pulled back, it was called the butterfly stroke and it was slow. People who swam one sided was able to breathe above water and were also faster.

Before we left the pool, I had finally learnt two swimming skills. I needed improvement though but I knew that I would reach perfection in no time.
Happy, we left for home.

Reflecting on my journey into the world of book reviewing, I can't help but chuckle at my initial assumptions. I had thought it would be a breeze, and I didn't see the value in undergoing any training for it. After all, what was there to it besides catching a few typos and grammatical errors, right? How hard could it be?

In my naivety, I smugly thought that reviewing books would involve nothing more than skimming through the pages and nitpicking at errors. Little did I know that I was about to embark on a comical journey of enlightenment.

It was a somewhat humbling experience when I decided to casually read a tutorial article on book reviewing. Flipping through the pages, I was caught off guard by the sheer depth and complexity of the process. Reviewing books wasn't just about proofreading - it involved a myriad of skills and sensitivities that I had never even considered.

I realized that it entailed spotting intricate phrasal errors, recognizing inappropriate and vulgar content, and even detecting plagiarism. The idea of having to read the same book three times for thorough analysis left me feeling a bit overwhelmed. Suddenly, my casual blase attitude towards book reviewing morphed into a comical concoction of awe and respect for the professionals in the field.

In a strange turn of events, I found myself enrolling in a course for book reviewing. Despite my initial skepticism, I plunged headfirst into the material, eager to absorb all the knowledge it had to offer. What I discovered was that this seemingly straightforward task was, in fact, a craft that demanded years of expertise and experience.

As I delved deeper into the course, I was astounded by the depth and intricacy of the art of book reviewing. I learned to appreciate the nuances, the subtleties, and the complexities that I had dismissed so carelessly in the past.

The course opened my eyes to a whole new world of understanding and appreciation for literature, and it even extended beyond the realm of reviewing. It taught me to approach texts with a different perspective, and my writing skills improved as I developed my ability to analyze and critique.

Three days ago, I found myself in the kitchen, engrossed in trying to fix a kettle of water on the verge of boiling over a fire. It was a rare moment where my attention was glued to my phone, an unusual sight for someone who prided himself on not being overly attached to the device. There was an urgent task that demanded my time and focus, and I couldn't afford to be distracted.

As I faced distraction from the kettle and my phone, disaster struck. The phone slipped from my grip, landing with a sickening thud on the hard kitchen floor. I winced as I saw the impact gravely crack the screen and touchpad. Annoyingly, the phone rebooted, and I silently hoped for the best as I bent down to inspect the damage.

To my relief, after the device came back on, it appeared that, apart from the crack on the screen, everything else seemed to be functioning normally. With a sigh, I carefully placed the phone in a safe spot and turned my attention back to the boiling water, swiftly pouring it into the awaiting custard.

However, when I finally returned to retrieve my phone, my heart sank. My previously operational device had become a victim of unseen damage. The crack, which I had hoped to be superficial, had extended to the inner screen, rendering the phone almost unreadable. I couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment as I realized the extent of the harm.
But despite all this, we thank God.