Do you ever get that tingling feeling in your stomach when you’re about to buy a book that you really want to read or when you’re about to read that book whose summary is so appealing, that you couldn’t stop yourself from resisting it? Yeah, that.
When I look back to when I was 3 or 4 years old, I had this storybook which was my all time favourite. It was called ‘Tyrone The Horrible’. This book was basically about dinosaurs wherein there’s a small dinosaur who gets bullied by a dinosaur much bigger than him, possessing much more power than the small one. This bully was called Tyrone. It revolves around how the small, little, cute dinosaur’s friends help him stand up to Tyrone (guess I was always some kind of anti-bullying, supports mental illness kind of person). I, to this date, have that book which I passed on to my younger brother who loves it too.
A little fast-forward into a little before my tween-self, I loved the Geronimo Stilton series and the Dork Diaries series and the Wimpy Kid series. They were a staple, for that particular age group, in my opinion. I would finish books as fast as I could and approach the library around three times a week which was not really allowed for the whole year but just around the summer time. This was basically because ‘young children’, ‘they’ll damage the books’, ‘they don’t even read that much’ kind of thing. My school didn’t really trust us, did they? So whenever I had the opportunity, I would issue a book. And if I couldn’t issue, then I would try to read as much as I could during my library period and then hide the book in a place where no one could find it, so that I could read it again during my next library period (a badass since grade 4).
When I entered grade 6, I felt the happiest ever because that meant unlimited trips to the library with full assurance of year-round library periods (I did a little ‘wohoo-dance’ in my head). My speed of reading books had grown a lot during this period. Gosh! I can’t even count the amount of books I read during 6th and 7th grade. My friends would often tell me to stop reading books all the time. I would read in every single free minute I could get and I was genuinely enjoying myself. Some people thought it was fake but I couldn’t care any less. I was a nerd, will always be a nerd (if you think being a nerd is an insult, uhm no. Nerds are cool.).
Now that I see myself, absolutely in love with books, I look back at how I started. I think I always wanted to read, to be deep into a new fantasy everyday. I’m sorry if this is stupid, but I have more crushes on fictional characters (and celebrities of course) than on any person well within my reach.
Every book that I read is like a soul enriching, mind developing journey for me. The person I am today, however broken, is because I could soak in so many views and opinions, thoughts and inspirations from diverse characters fabulously portrayed by the author. Books have moulded the way I am today and this often gets me to think: what if I hadn’t discovered reading?
The answer scares me honestly. I would be so different and not be a nerd, which I take complete pride in. I wouldn’t be exposed to the beauty of the world, of the fictional world and the art of always carrying on, no matter what. I wouldn’t know how to even survive myself (uhm Perks Of Being A Wallflower, this is a THANK YOU note to you).
Books have always played an important part in my life and will continue to follow suit. However cliché it might sound, but books have been the getaway that everyone needs once in a while, the only difference here is: they helped me getaway from days which came around a little more than once in a while.
Signing off, I would want to say that books took care of me as if I might just be it’s baby. They took away my I-can’t-be-helped broken self and replaced it with I-know-people-can-be-broken-sometimes broken self, they introduced me to such beautiful words and writing styles, and most of all they told me that I can write too. I didn’t ever feel like I was blessed with the talent of writing (I might still not blessed but hey! I don’t completely suck) but books made me realize that I really do not have to know great words or phrases in order to write, I just need to know how to portray my thoughts and be able to paint a picture through mere words.