I have a confession to make.
I forgot the Sci-fi and Fantasy novels I loved when I was younger, and in doing so, I also lost a part of myself.
As a young reader I had always majorly read in the Science fiction and fantasy sections of my public school library. Something that my parents never had a issue with.
* After all, how many parents today would not like to have a child who enjoyed reading *
But by the time I was already entering my middle years of high school they saw it as more of a annoyance, all I read was nothing that could be used for any of my classes. After all, as much as I excelled in my English courses, I was starting to lag behind my Calculus courses. My father once said “why don’t you read something more use full, than just science fiction.” His recommendations at the time were my Calculus book.
*I had been struggling with a C in the class, yet avoided studing the book, so I would rather read my own books at the time*
I usually responded with a roll of the eyes and a annoyed sigh. Since then I started to read less of any books in that genre, just so I could escape such comments and the lectures that eventually followed. I wouldn’t go back to reading any books like that for a few years.
Yet when I was in my local bookstore a few weeks ago, I passed by the fantasy aisle. I had been wandering around the fiction section and had grown bored. Nothing seemed to grasp my interest or seemed to hold my attention for more then a few pages. So i decided to wander outside my zone of familiarity and venture out to other aisles. Where I can recall my thoughts say ” what kind of books are in this fantasy/ sci -fi section”
I started randomly grabbing books left and right and reading their back covers without any method, Just pull a book out and see what emerges from the shelves is more of my style.
*It helps to avoid judging a book by its cover. As much as I try not to do so, I always grab a book that I deem to be more attractive or newer then say another.*
The worlds I glimpsed seemed so incredible, and in that moment, I had a huge rush of memories come swarming from my 13 yr old self. I spent hours in such elaborate worlds,where magic was in everything from the ground to open skies, worlds where technology had changed everything about life for the better. How I had always come out of my pages aching to live in those worlds and not have to come back to my very mundane un-magical, un-shiny non futuristic earth. Where I could not just conjure fire with my hand, or warp myself to a whole other planet all before lunch. Even when the worlds weren’t amazing, I always relished the thought of being on the rebels side. All came rushing to me.
“How could I have forgotten?!” I actually said out loud to myself.
* I’ve realized I have a tendency to talk to myself when I think i’m alone*
Luckily I didn’t get embarrassed to find any living souls around me. to hear my outburst or see my erratic book grabbing.
As I pulled spines and read the synopsis of each book, a trickle of guilt entered. It was hard to describe, but maybe guilt is not the right word, I felt like I had lost something, and what was worse is that I didn’t know I had lost it till that moment in time.
As weird as it is, I could almost hear my younger self crying, how could I have stopped reading, stopped entering the worlds that held so much magic?! I felt i had lost a small piece of what I never thought I would loose as a child, a love of reading. I’ll admit that before then my reading history had almost come to a stamd still, where before i was reading at the vwry least a book a month. I had come to reading a book a year or so. I could easily blame it on the fact that now I have school and work, but I my younger self, the inner me, would have never held it as a viable excuse. It would have just been a lie to myself.
So, with that realization, I grabbed one of my five books after a few seconds of indecisiveness. I sat down and opened the pages and let myself be engulfed by the pages and printed text.
Funny how simple a book is. Just ink scribbles on a thin pieces of paper. Roughly just stains on the leftovers of a tree, yet with in those stains, all my senses go……
My eyes don’t see text, yet they must, right? How else could I read? In the midst of my readings, I am unaware of whats in front of my eyes, they seem to just move on their own accord and I’m transplanted into a new world, a new body, I seem to cease to exist and I become immersed in the pages.
That day I left with a new world in my bag and a old me that had returned.