Why I Read........

When I was little, I was afraid of everything. Big or small, imaginary or not; I was terrified. At four years old I weighed 27 and stood about 3 feet tall; I knew I had no chance against and monster or a stranger who chose to mess with me. So when that ghost I knew haunted the first floor bathroom chose to show itself, my strategy was to run and hide.

I soon discovered the best place to hide in my house: my grandfather’s library. With its large, detailed rugs, and tall rows of books, it soon had me forgetting about that shadow in the bathroom. I felt safe among the worn leather chairs and warm sunlight that streamed in through the bay windows. I could stay there for hours, exploring the old books and discovering new pictures. In the library I wasn’t me anymore. I was a princess or a pirate or anything that I wanted to be. And I certainly wasn’t afraid of anything; the library made me brave. It was my sanctuary from my fear, from what I couldn’t face.

Even though that library’s long gone, destroyed and gutted of its books, the thought of it still makes me feel safe. It reminds me that if I pick up a book and read its story, I can escape from whatever’s frightening me. This is why I read; to feel safe and secure in some other world. To be able to put my life aside and become someone else. I read because not only was the library my sanctuary, but the books have become one too.