I always feel that rush when I gently hold a book in my hand, carefully flip through those delicate yellow-brown pages. My eyes are too hungry for the phrases and words, that sometimes they tend to skip through those beautifully constructed sentences till I have no choice but to reread the whole page to fully appreciate the work of the author.
I started to read when I was still young. I still remembered how my mom used to lie next to me, holding a book up high enough for both of us to read, where I snuggled next to her slim body, burrowing for the warmth that radiated from her. She'd read to me, word by word, line by line, as I squinted my eyes to see better. She wasn't fluent in English as she was raised in a family that spoke their own dialect, but she knew the importance of English for my future, thus she tried her very best to teach me simple English, till I was big enough to read on my own. We had gone through Peter and Jane, Enid Blyton and numerous fairy tales. She stayed by my side, faithfully teaching me and watched me enjoying myself from reading books. Though she had never said it aloud, I know that she's gratified that I picked up that habit and eventually learned English on my own. Without her, I would never stick my head in a book for hours, living through every emotions and adventures with the protagonists. I owe her, for her persistence, patience, and my devotion to books.
My dad, on the other hand, had not taught me how to appreciate books, but he is also another reason that I read that much today. Though he had never let me snuggled up by his side and read to me, I had watched him sitting on the couch flipping through Dan Brown and John Grisham. I was intrigued, naturally, by that light that sparkled in his eyes, that concentration and that little dent he had between his eyebrows whenever he was absorbed in the story. I would watch him intently, mesmerized, by his serious expression, and by the thickness of the books he read. Subconsciously, I made myself a mental promise that one day, I will read as much as my daddy does. Today, my bookshelf is full till I had no choice but to cram my books in it.
I'm a bookworm, eventually, till all these years of reading. Though my mom is pleased that I read a lot, she still makes me use my pocket money to buy books. Firstly, it'll make me appreciate and take good care of my books (my treasures) and secondly, it'll make me understand the importance of saving money. I will think thrice before I buy a book with my own money. I didn't have a huge allowance, so I had to save every cent and shilling in my "saving bag" (no, I don't have a piggy). No money is too small for me. And because I'm capable of buying new books frequently, and the fact that I hate borrowing books (they smell all wrong), I reread all my books over and over again to quench my thirst for books. Every time I reread that particular book, it brings back different memories and feelings. That's why I enjoy rereading books over and over again, to really gain understanding and to really appreciate that particular book with all my heart.
I have gone through a lot of adventures with the books I've read, and it made me want to create stories in my personal universe, too. That's when I started to write. I don't care what I write, I just do. When the inspirations hit hard, I'll quickly grab a pen and some papers and jot down as fast as I can. I treat that as an escape from the real world, from all my problems. I also write journals to keep me sane, and to talk to myself. To me, reading and writing is inseparable. Both are essentials in my life, to paint my world with bright colors and being my personal escape from the real world.
To be completely honest, I don't think I'll live through a day without reading and writing. That's just me, I guess. But that's how I survived.
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