Hey Book Lovers!
What? I have not posted a blog in an entire month? I would say I have been drowning in the never ending ocean of college homework, but my quarter has been fairly mellow so far. I have not been working a bagillion hours. I did not get stranded on a deserted island. A freak storm did not knock out my internet for the last month (although it has been fairly spotty lately). So why have my thoughts strung together on your computer screen been missing for so long?
I think the real reason is I haven’t read any rant worthy books recently. Don’t get me wrong, I am still reading and I still have thoughts on the books that line my shelf. Just not enough to write a bunch of words about. So your regularly scheduled book reviews are disrupted for a prequel of sorts. The story of why I love books.
While at work the other day mindlessly entering data into my computer (yet again) I began to think about my love affair with books. One that started before I can remember and never faded throughout my life.
I don’t have a specific “ah-ha” moment in my life when it comes to books. My grandma taught me to read when I was four. We used to cuddle up on the couch with her old “See Jane Run” books everyday while my mom was at work and my little sister was bouncing around in her babysit. Not that I remember this all that well, but my grandma tells this story pretty much anytime books get brought up in a conversation.
The very first books I can remember getting are Where the Sidewalk Ends, A Light in the Attic, and The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein. My dad’s best friend gave them to me for my fifth birthday. By this point I was already head over heels, but those books are to this day one of my favorite birthday presents. They sit on my bookshelf in all their tattered, well-loved glory. Whenever I have a bad day I know I can open to anyone of those silly poems and it will instantly make me feel better. Well, any poem except for Clarence the Clown, I never did like that one.
So I guess those are some of the starting points in my reading career. As I grew older my love of books never faded, but did secure me the Nerd title amongst my family members. While my little sister was begging me to “please just hang out with her” I brushed her off because “I can’t stop in the middle of the chapter it’s getting good!” While gaming systems and toys donned the Christmas lists of my cousins mine always had a lenghty book section. I was (and still am) the book nerd.
Should we delve into the ever complicated, entirely unanswerable question of my I love books? I think so! Here is the main reason:
The experiences we as humans have the opportunity to go through are limited. That’s the simple, imcredibly sad truth of it. A human cannot experience EVERYTHING in the world. It just does not work that way. However, everytime you open a book you are strapping in for a whole new adventure that you may or may not ever encounter in real life. This goes along with that fact that no two authors have the same ideas or imaginations or point of views. This means that every book written is uniquely different. Which is so freaking cool! With just a few hours and some imagination books can take you anywhere.
Books have been my best friend when I felt like no one was there to listen. Books have shown me to deal with emotions. Books have taught me about why we are here and how we got here. Books have made the most beautiful decoration in my bedroom. Books have lulled me to sleep and kept me up for hours. I pace and I yell and I cry and I laugh right along side the characters. I worry about the lives of fictional characters because can’t everyone just live happily ever after! Books made me who I am today. And although I have gotten countless jokes about the nerdiness of my obsession, I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Sorry, I think I got a little carried away. I just get really giddy and nerdy when I talk about books. But there you have it. My favorite love story. I hope you fall in love too.