I believe it was C.S. Lewis who once said, “We read to know we are not alone.” And perhaps that’s how it all started for me.
Most of my life I have kept to myself. I was never popular in school. I don’t usually prefer to be the center of attention. My mom once told me she was never too worried if she couldn’t find me because she knew I was probably holed up in some corner of the house with a book. I tend to prefer sitting in chairs now, rather than closets, but the activity is still the same – reading.
Reading (and writing, for that matter) has always been challenging for me, and it has always been the one thing in my life that I have never gotten sick of. English has always been my favorite subject in school, not because I was good at it, but because I enjoyed it.
I miss taking those English classes – that time spent discussing books and how they are written, finding hidden meanings behind a single word, dissecting characters’ motivations and histories. I miss scrambling up all those words and un-scrambling them in my head, putting those words to paper, and calling it an essay.
This is my bookshelf. It is where I get to continue doing exactly that – sharing my thoughts about the books I read.