‘It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are’ – E.E Cummings
Today I decided that I was going to start sorting through my things, in preparation for university so as to not have to spend last frantic minutes deciding what I was going to take and what I was going to give away or put into storage. Stupidly, I started with my book cupboard. A mistake I should have really foreseen. The problem being is that like most avid book readers, I tend to keep my books, a book collector if you will. This had become a problem because I have far too many books, around 117 and that was after I’d chosen some to throw out, and by some I mean about five. The point I guess I’m trying to make is that more often than not, the collection of books people have, may sometimes in itself portray the story of someone’s life.
The deeper into the book cupboard I got, the further back I was going until I could go no further than ‘Peter rabbit’ and my collection of ‘ Winnie the Pooh’. I suppose it made me simply nostalgic, for when times were simple and easier. Books have a funny way of taking a complicated world and making it easier. Books became my solitude, my safe place, my home. As I looked on, I found books that influenced who I am today, books of fairy tales, Harry Potter and the adventures in Narnia. These, to name a few, helped me to become who I am, influenced the beliefs I have today and gave me some of the best days of my life. Further still and I found the books I typically read now, vampire diaries and Sherlock Holmes, books that are influencing the way I write today, Sherlock Holmes for example influenced the crime fiction novel I am currently in the process of writing.
For a long time, books were the only friends I had, were the only ‘homes’ I ever felt like entering. In the dark time, I would pick up a book, and that would be all the light I needed. Characters that were perhaps too lifelike, became my best friends, there whenever I needed them, with I guess, always just the right words to say. They become a source of comfort that I’ve yet to find someone else can give me. They became something I could hide behind, metaphorically yes, but also in reality, because no one like to disturb a girl that’s reading.
My point is that, my books are like a piece of me and today I found it hard throwing small pieces of myself away. I suppose all people need to grow and evolve, so perhaps it will be a brilliant thing, because it will have made way for new books and new adventures to have, yet at the same time, I can’t help but feel a little homesick at the loss of some places that I may never get to visit again.