An autobiography of a story book

My name is Arabian Nights. I am a colorful and attractive book. I wasprinted in New Zealand and was later shipped to Singapore. It was a long tiring journey. As soon as I reached the Singapore harbor, I was taken to a bookshop. I was displayed on a shelf with other new books. There I met and befriended a book entitled Alice in Wonderland. One day a few girls entered the shop. They laughed and joked among themselves. They were browsing through the books and one of them picked me up. She was attracted to me and bought me immediately. I was taken to her house and placed on a bookshelf. She took good care of me. After reading me, she would place me carefully on the shelf. One day, her mischievous cousin visited her. He entered her room without her permission and started tearing her books. Then to my horror, he took me from the shelf and flipped through my pages very roughly. Just then, my owner stormed into the room and rescued me. She smoothed out my pages and soon I was as good as new. Till today I am with her giving her delight through my stories. I love her very much.

I am an old shabby, story-book. I have become dirty and dog-eared. I am handled very roughly by my present owner. How I wish for the old days when I was a slender pine tree in a mountain forest! The breeze blew softly through me. The birds sat on me and sang sweetly. I was very happy then. One sad day I was cruelly felled by workmen. I was taken to a paper mill. My soft wood was crushed and made into thin sheets of paper. As paper then, I was transported to a printing press. Here a story was printed on me and many lovely pictures were printed too to illustrate the story. My companions and I were sent to a large book shop. A poor man bought me for his sick child. The child was delighted to have me. He spent many happy hours in my company. He turned over my pages very carefully. He handled me with loving care. Alas! this happy life did not last long ! One of this child's friends stole me. He took me home. He threw me about and handled me very roughly. I became dirty and shabby. My pages became dog-eared. Now I must spend the rest of my life with this cruel boy. How unhappy I am!

My existence dates back to millions of years. There were times when I was popular. Well, not anymore. The advent of computer has deduced my usage. I am given importance only when I am part of the curriculum, where one uses me to the hilt. I enjoy the company of kids and love them as much as they love me. Why do they dislike me as they grow is something I cannot fathom. Its sad that they even consider me obsolete. On a shelf in the library I become just a part of the collection, I yearn for someone to pick me up and read me. There is so much of information that I would love to share. I do sometimes adorn the shelves of the nouveau riche who take pride in exhibiting me, not knowing my worth. While there, if I am chanced upon by a book lover I count my lucky stars! At times, I am much spoken about by the media for reasons either good or bad. Falling a prey to being pilfered of my pages is a deed I detest, apart from hooligans using me as a weapon to give vent to their anger. Oh! how I look forward to regaining my days of glory!