I am a bookworm, always have and always will be. I delight in the discovery of literary gems that impart lessons in life or even those which just let you indulge in a few hours of fantasy, true love or happiness. Books give me great joy.
And no, in spite of what most people think, we bookworms do not live our lives vicariously through pages, dreaming and imagining instead of going out to the world and experiencing things first hand, this much I can say for myself. Aside from burying myself in pages of incredible stories, I like to travel and I enjoy outdoor activities.
But I digress. Let’s go back to books and their fragrant pages which evoke incredible worlds only they can uniquely bring to life. Although technology has certainly improved by leaps and bounds in the last decade and we now have this delightful little thing called the Kindle, as well as tablets, I still love real books, be it paperback or hardbound.
Nothing beats the feeling of flipping through pages and reading the printed word. Well, what is the caveat emptor of being a bookworm? It’s owning numerous books that they fill up shelves of what was hitherto empty space. Most of the time you acquire so many and you end up not knowing where to put them. This is especially true if you are moving to a room which is just half the size of your previous one.
I have tried to stop myself from purchasing books time and again. I said, get the ebook on your Kindle and you won’t be burdened with heavy books but hey my frail bookworm heart just can’t say no to books displayed neatly on the shelves of Kinokuniya or those books haphazardly thrown about in book fairs.
No, no my hopeless heart just cannot say no to books. And I will probably have to live with this weakness my whole life. I am not complaining but my bookshelves are, because they are bursting at the seams with poetry, stories of despair, hope and all the nuances of what this thing we like to call life.