Books are a big part of my life. I read since I was five or six and never stopped reaching for a new book to hide myself in.
They exist since millions of years, on plates of Ancient Egyptians, carefully scribed documents on papyrus to mass produced books for the modern societies.
One of the first books that I remember reading were the stories of Winnie the Pooh. Now, my private collection reaches the number of few hundreds and it is still growing, since I can hardly pass by a book that catches my interest. Just last week I have bought five new books and read them already.
The collection includes Harry Potter series, the Chronicles of Narnia, Sherlock Holmes, How to Kill a Mockingbird, Sense and Sensibility, works by Stephen King and Robert Harris. The whole series of Felix, Net and Nika, various manga series, and many, many more, in English, Polish, French and Japanese.
Those books were there to cheer me up, to pick myself up when the world around was crushing down on me. They were and are my friends. Silent, waiting with patience for their moment. And I love all and every one of them, because I chose to live the lives of it’s characters to imagine and fill their worlds with motion and life.
I read on the way to college, on the bus, on the bench, in the cafe and in the bookshop, because without books I would be a very closed off person, instead I learned and learn new thing with every page that I turn.
I encounter the peasants and high middle class, live in their houses, play their music. I discover new technologies and taste the life of the past. I live through their loses but also move on with them and start anew.
The list of borrowed books on my library cards is growing every day, because reading is important to me. Without it I would have became an empty shell of a person. Instead my soul is thriving.
So go on and read on. You never know what kind of a life waits for you, if you don’t turn the page to start.