Okay, so this has nothing to do with India- a new post with updates from abroad will be here later this week!. Until then, I'm taking a break in celebration of International Book Week to reflect upon one of the most important things in my life- books. (This is an essay I wrote for a class, but as I thought about International Book Week, these are the feelings that came to mind... )
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Books are an integral
aspect of my existence. In a way,
I feel that I am more myself while in the midst of a good book than at any
other time. The object alone- the
crackle of the spine, the feeling of the paper between my fingers, the smell of
the pages- conjures memories from a life created by books. Looking back, so much of what I have
felt, thought, and experienced has been influenced by what I have read. A love that innocently began in
childhood has since grown into a passion that has in turn become part of how I
live. My world has been shaped by
books.
Growing up, my
mother always told me “she could never deny a child a book.” I am a product of this mentality. My room at home features a vast wall of
books that chronicle my evolution and growth as both a reader, and as an
individual. Between the pages of
each volume lies a piece of my life- a memory or snapshot of who I was in the
moment I read it. From the days I
spent imagining myself on the prairie with the Ingalls family, to coming of age
while reading Anne of Green Gables, to time spent outdoors with a copy
of Jane Eyre, the breeze in my hair and pieces of sunshine dancing
across the pages, I find that within every book there is something that I have
both gained, and something that I have left behind. The stories of my childhood have now become time capsules
for the sentiments I felt while reading, just as they were doors opening to new
thoughts and experiences the first time I read them. For this reason, I have a difficult time parting with
books. With pieces of myself and
my experiences scattered between the lines, letting go of a beloved book would
feel like casting off a personal connection.
Observing
my bookshelf, I can see my interests as a reader expand with time. While Harry Potter and other
coveted classics of my childhood still hold a prominent spot upon my shelves, I
have made room for new additions.
A well-loved copy of Pride and Prejudice is perched as delicately
on my shelf as a finely dressed Austen character seeking the hand of a
suitor. The spine is creased with
age and the pages are discolored with time. I cannot tell you how many times I have read the book, but I
can say that each time it meant something different. In high school I read The Catcher in the Rye, and
have since been hooked on J.D. Salinger.
A section dedicated to his novels and short stories holds a special
place on my shelves, paying homage to that moment of discovery and the
appreciation of questions and individuality his books brought to me.
When
I returned home for the summer after completing my freshman year of college, I
brought with me additions to my shelves.
Some were textbooks that I found intriguing, others merely books on new
topics I acquired- all products of the growth and exploration I experienced in
that first year. Volumes of
political theory- think Marx and Mill- appeared alongside newfound interests in
Thoreau, and writings regarding peace and tolerance by Gandhi and the Dalai
Lama. Through this expansion my
collection has grown all the more eclectic and in turn all the more reflective
of my personality and interests.
As
nonfiction works share a shelf with collections of abstract poetry, as classic
novels mingle with modern young adult works, as fantasy mixes with theory, and
as cherished childhood stories sit next to college textbooks, I see my life
unfold through my books. A seemingly
simple set of shelves is my timeline, displaying the journey of my interests
and acting as a visual explanation of all that’s influenced what I think of the
world. They are what I have seen,
and what I will continue to strive to see in my surroundings. They are my books, and they have shaped
what I have-- and what I will-- become. And
so I hope to continue, observing life through the pages of a book.
