I donât remember the clearest on how I learned how to read but I sure do remember it was my mother who taught me. My mother was an elementary school teacher for several years before I came of age to even start reading so she was always very fond of education and especially reading books. Before I went to bed my mother would read to me every night in my room which is how I also grew an interest in reading and I began to ask my mother to teach me how to read and she would let me read to her instead. Of course when I was young I would read picture books and the easier books but I slowly grew to read more challenging books and by 5th grade I was done with the â leveled readingâ and off to reading YA, which I was very excited about. When I began to read chapter books and got into middle school I read this book named The tears of a tiger one day during reading time and that immediately became my favorite book. I decided to read the continuation of it and fell in love with both books the way the author used certain language to portray the plot of the story and keep the reader engaged which it sure did. Later on my love for the books started showing up in the way that I was writing. Since then I havenât read much books on my own that Interest me as much as those, but that is as much as I could remember on how I learned to read.Â
    Now I donât remember much about how I learned how to write but I do remember being a very passionate writer when I was younger up until 8th grade. I had a very broad creative mind and in my free time I would grab my notebook and pencil, sit in my bed and just write write and write. I would write random stories either based on shows I watched or things Iâve dreamed or seen. Later I would show my mother what I have written and she loved my storyâs so much she would push me to write all the time as well as my teachers that always complemented how creative and thoughtful my writing was but I slowly began to lose my interest in writing. When 8th grade closer to high school came I started to get bored of writing and less and less creative with my writing. My mom tried to make me write stories but I just wasn’t into it no more despite how good I knew my stories would turn out and how I always loved to re read them over and over again I just wasnât interested. Although I no longer write how I used to and have not even the slightest memory of me learning how to write as a child I will always hold in my heart my â writing phaseâ as some may like to call it.