There’s magic in a book store.
A building filled with carefully selected thoughts, ideas, and emotions strategically placed and bound. Each shelved volume filled with unimaginable stories. Each written with passion and determination to be heard. “Read me” they call as I walk through the aisles. I feel giddy with excitement until a sudden panic hits because I realize I couldn’t possibly read them all. But I so desperately wish to. My right hand strokes their spines as I walk regretfully past them, wondering what adventures I could be mission out on. A travel to space? Life as an architect? A world of charms and spells? Books of varying color and size grace me with their presence. Red, blue, white, polka dot.
How wonderful would be if I could get lost in all of them? If I could feel all the feels there ever was to feel in humanity. But would it be? I think of Flowers for Algernon. We are not meant to know it all, but we have been gifted with the ability to imagine and empathize. And books, books are humanity’s grand creation that allows us to fully expand our potential for compassion. I pick one up and breathe in the smell of fresh inked paper.
I don’t remember who introduced to me to my first book, but I remember the melody from the library book truck parked near my home in Kobe. The truck played a Japanese song in a similar way ice creams trucks did in the US. Every second Tuesday I’d jump out the door when I heard the tune- velcro on my shoes still hanging loose. The tiny book filled vehicle bounced as children entered through its welcoming back doors-that was always kinda fun- and I’d squeeze the borrowed books into my chest with the sure knowledge that my mother would know how to make sense of the printed black shapes I’d yet learned how to decipher.
I think I was eight when I discovered the true charm of written words. Fate lead me to the school library and there I stayed for the remainder of my years in Japan, clinging onto words in those well-read pages -my life raft in a world that seemed like a deep dark fin circling ocean. Reading, initially, was a way for me to escape reality. Back then I read books housing characters I could relate to, Anne of Green Gables, A Little Princess, Happy Birthday(Japanese), One Liter of Tears(Japanese) they were all about a girl who didn’t fit it, and most of them had happy endings. I lived in those books, was encouraged, comforted and saved by the carefully lined passages that evoked emotional responses. I slept in peace and grew cradled in their rhythmic promising plots. As the years passed, I reached out to more fiction, Cirque Du Freak, Howl’s Moving Castle, Harry potter…Highschool opened my eyes to classic literature, Catcher in the Rye, 1984, Mary Shelly’s Frankenstein and a side of Nicholas Sparks. And lately I’ve been finding myself in need of self help and development books- perhaps a sign of gravitation towards self-acceptance. It’s interesting how what you read /need changes over time but the magic of books remain the same.
The great thing is, no matter where you are in life, there is always the right book to accompany it. The perfectly constructed words nourishing your soul just the way you need it.
I know not everyone will agree with me on this, but I truly wish that every single person in the world could learn the joy of reading like I did (under better circumstances of course). And as the world continues to rid itself of tangible things, I pray that physical books remain.
I pray for a day where every human in every nook across the globe has the funds, space and time for reading. I pray that every child is tucked in with an enchanting bedtime story that will lift their spirits throughout the years. And even if the printed paper becomes obsolete, I hope the act of reading, the act of storytelling so ancient in its origin will survive and remain. Because humanity will always need a safe heaven, and sometimes that could only be a page away.
— Today’s random ramblings by yours truly —
*Photo by Janko Ferlic from Pexels
