我书架 2009年第5期.docVIP

我书架 2009年第5期 　　My room is a little world of my own, packed with things that are very special to me. Everything in my room, from the blue armchair to the red sports bag, from the posters1 on the wall to the model car perched2 on the windowsill, exhibits a part of me. However, the object that reveals the most about me is undoubtedly the bookshelf. 　　The large wooden shelf is in light yellow. It has four levels and the same amount of doors, with cabinets at the bottom. It is fairly tall ―― I have to stand on my toes (踮着脚尖) to reach the top level. There are glass panes3 on the doors, as well as exquisite4 handles. 　　It is obvious that no house can be called home unless there are residents. Likewise, no shelf can be called bookshelf without books ―― and my bookshelf is no disgrace5 to its name. It is packed with books, books of every topic, from different countries, of all sizes, for all ages... It is the soul of my room, the king of my world.(它是我房间的灵魂，是我个人世界的国王。） 　　Right from the beginning of my life, I have had a strange connection with books. On the day I was one-year-old, my parents held a traditional Chineseceremony for me. They placed all kinds of things before me, such as calculators, hammers, clothes, pens, toys etc., and told me to pick one. I picked none of the large and modern things littered6 before me, but firmly grabbed an old book. This meant my future life would have something to do with books. It may be superstition7, but it was as correct a prophecy8 as was ever made. 　　From the time I was a little baby, my mum had started to tell me stories using picture books. Though I could not even speak then, and definitely could not understand a word mum said, I would always laugh and wave my armslike windmills when she came to sit by my side, holding a book in her hands. When I was three, my mum started to teach me Chinese characters. I learnt quickly, and after a short time. I could read some basic storybooks. During the cold winter days. I would lie in b