Hello, and welcome to The English Like a Native Podcast, the listening resource for intermediate to advanced-level English learners. My name is Anna, and today we're going to be learning English through the medium of story, which is one of the best ways to learn. If you would like to get your hands on the transcript and vocabulary list from today's episode, then you can by becoming a Plus Member. A full vocabulary list and transcript will be emailed out to current Plus Members on Monday. If you are interested in becoming a Plus Member and supporting this podcast, then you can by clicking on the link in the show notes. Without further ado, let's get on with today's episode. The Human Storybook. Let me tell you about Nanda. She lives in the village of Manehic, not too far from anywhere, but not too near either. It's the perfect place to live if you don't want to be disturbed, and the most perfect place of all in that perfect place is the attic of her family home. Here, as books started falling out of use, displaced by mobiles, tablets, and other electronic devices, they found their way to Nanda's attic. Nanda liked nothing better than to browse this library of discarded treasures and forgotten pleasures. One particular lazy day, as rays of sunlight filtered through the dusty windows, casting a warm, golden glow on the mountains of books, crates and boxes that surrounded her, Nanda brushed her fingers across the spines of some dusty, yellowing tomes, and watched as the sun caught the particles in its projection. It seemed to Nanda as if she had accidentally come across a space which she hadn't known existed. She put her hand into this new space and drew circles in the air, watching the dust change direction and follow her movements. All the dust caused her to sneeze suddenly."Achoo!" Three times in fact."Achoo! Achoo!" And she moved away, picking up the last book that she had touched without looking at the cover. Opening the window for a little ventilation, she made herself comfortable and sat, just holding the book on her lap. She liked to just spend a few moments or even minutes preparing herself for the pleasure of opening a book. She felt that if she allowed the book some silence, some time to prepare itself, then it would appreciate this, and their shared experience would be richer. This time though, she didn't open the book after a few moments, or even after a few minutes. In fact, she never opened it. Nanda remained by the window, away from the swirling dust and the direct sunlight that had caused her to sneeze so suddenly. Instead, eyes closed, her head began to fill with images and narratives, knowledge and fantasy, wisdom and wonder; it was as if all the books in the attic were suddenly and simultaneously uploading into her head, such that her physical body had to close down all its functions and direct all her energy to her brain in order to keep her from being completely overwhelmed. Ancient civilisations, possible future worlds, bygone eras, contemporary reality, daring adventures, the secrets of time travel, diaries, schoolbooks, cookbooks, pocketbooks, softbacks, hardbacks, dictionaries, manuals, fairy tales. Nanda had always been content to spend her days reading while the rest of the village went about their daily business. She helped with the housework, checked in on the elderly people in the village and ran errands for them. With this, she felt she had earned her hours engrossed in anything that she could get her hands on. The people she visited had in fact, contributed many of the books that were steadily accumulating in her attic. In many ways, she had seen the villagers that she looked in on as being something to read too; some of them told her stories directly, others did so unconsciously by just describing their daily life, speaking the same language in different ways; different turns of phrase, different tones, different points of view at different paces, some eternally digressing or going in different directions away from the main point, and others trying to get to the end of what they wanted to say so quickly that Nanda often had to ask them about some key elements that they had missed out in their haste. She wasn't sitting helpless by the window long enough for anyone to notice that she was missing, and when it seemed to her that she had woken up after falling asleep, she checked her watch and went off to meet one of her neighbours. Ah, she felt a bit stiff, to tell the truth, but she supposed that this was because she had fallen asleep in a chair. She put the storm in her head, down to the effects of dreaming, but what had she dreamt? All these flashes of, well,'otherness' was how it seemed to her; other places, ways, times, people. The outside had come inside, and Nanda sensed that instead of just reading and listening, she actually had something to say. At dinner time, when Nanda's family gathered as usual to talk about life in the village, she announced that she would like to go travelling. They were quick to cut her short."That's not like you, Nanda!""Oh, we can't break the bank for you to go wandering around!" But Nanda stuck to her guns."And what if I could travel for free?" she teased them."How on Earth could you do that?!""Well, because it wouldn't just be travelling, but time-travelling too." They were dumbstruck for a moment."Have you taken leave of your senses?" Nanda explained that they wouldn't have to go to extremes;"Simply by reading, I'll be able to transcend the constraints of time and space and embark on the most extraordinary adventures.""Fair point," they all said,"Let her read.""I think all that dust up in the attic has affected your brain!" After a few more jokes at her expense, Nanda returned to the attic that evening. Each joke, funny or not, said something about the person telling it. Nanda let the memory of the conversations settle, like the dust all around her. She even allowed herself to smile, remembering that one of her uncles had said he had once seen a film about a traveller who was very big one minute and very small the next. He said that if she happened to shrink then she wasn't to worry because he had told all the animals in the village that she is a good person and that they would look after her until she got bigger again. But if she turned into a giant then could she keep an eye on his farm for him? Believing that anything was possible if one puts one's mind to it, she went back to the window and tried to tap back into the experience she'd had in the morning. She began creating her own adventures, day by day, as the summer passed, as the leaves lost their green, as the sun started to take its influence elsewhere... Nanda told her stories at lunchtimes, dinnertimes, on visits to the folk that she was caring for. She was becoming a storyteller, and her reputation even began to grow beyond the confines of Manehic. People came to visit her, too. Well, they claimed to be family friends coming to have dinner and catch up after a long absence, but really, they were attracted by the idea of listening to Nanda, this girl they had hardly noticed before. The stories she told were something way beyond their experience, and they had to excuse themselves from time to time to ask things like,"What's an amulet then?""Are runes the same as ruins?""Hang on, I thought'slay' was what Father Christmas rides in!" As time passed, visitors became intrigued by Nanda's own story; how she had become a storyteller, how come she had such imagination; where had it all begun? Nanda and her family had been so completely comfortable with herself, her'new' self, that she hadn't thought back to a time when she wasn't telling stories. It wasn't too hard for her to pinpoint when exactly she had begun this new chapter of life. The attic, the swirling dust, the unopened book they were all still there, of course, and when Nanda explained what she remembered, everyone asked her to show her the magical book, the one that Nanda had never opened, but seemed to have opened her. Could they see it, could they hold it, could the same thing happen to them? Nanda was Nanda, she thought to herself, you are who you are. Seeing my book will not change you, holding my book will not transform you. There is no magic like a supernatural force that can convert one thing into another. What seemed to happen to me then, and there, by the window, had actually already happened, I just hadn't given myself the chance to use what was already inside me. I had read all the lines, but I never stepped onto the stage. How could you be happy with my life when you have your own experiences, attachments, talents, and everything else that makes you, you? Her thoughts were so loud that she was surprised, but relieved that they weren't audible to others. She didn't want to seem cruel or speak harshly, so she told anyone who asked that if they like, they can come up to the attic and take any book they want. Find a way of choosing without looking, without searching for something that you think will please you. That might be the key to transformation, to starting a new journey. If you choose to open the book and read it, wait a moment first; could you wait a little longer? What could be inside it? What is inside you? If you do choose to read the book, then come back and visit when you finish it, you could take another one, but before you do you can tell me your story. Okay. Did you enjoy that? I hope you did. If you did, then please take a moment to leave a like, a rating or review. And if you know anyone who's learning English, then remember to recommend The English Like a Native Podcast. Until next time, take very good care and goodbye.