The losing arguments of a bookaholic
.
.
I can trace back my addiction to books back the very beginning, in fact all the way to the fifth grade. I wasn’t an extrovert; you abandon me on an island, and it’d probably take me two to three days to realize that you have left me there.
I remember those amazing days of my summer vacation where my mother would come home from school – she’s a teacher – with a bag bursting with books from the library, bursting with books. Peeking into that book used to be the highlight of the month for me, and pulling them out one by one? I was in heaven.
There used to Enid Blyton’s short stories, Goosebumps, Famous Five and so much more. If I could create a Patronus, that would be my memory.
At some point my brain decided, “More, I need more.”
This is where my problems began.
1. Bookshelves and Perfumes
Some day’s my mother had to stay back late at school to help prepare for events or parties etc, so she would either let me play around with the other children or let me use the library. Most of the times I’d pick the library.
The library in my school was very small compared to theirs, it was basically a medium sized room with a few shelves and a long table where we could sit and read. My mother’s library though was a huge room with multiple shelves. I’d get lost in there for hours.
One day I got bored playing with the other kids, so I snuck in and started looking around the shelves to read something, I found this big, illustrated copy of Scooby Doo. I went over to one of the empty tables and started to read, while reading I got distracted by the other shelves, I picked out some more books, then some more, and so on.
Soon my brain decided, “We should get a bookshelf.”
The addiction took root here.
My grandfather bought me the first books of my collection, they were: The first two books of Harry Potter and Anne of Green Gables. I still have them.
I cannot write my excitement in words, for little me this was everything. My first books, which were all mine. I thumbed through the pages and took in their scent. A perfume worth millions in my mind.
I came back home, cleared up a corner in my closet and placed them in with reverence.
My very own tiny library.
It was the start.
2. Book Boyfriends and Fantasies
As an introvert sprinkled in with a pinch of paranoia and anxiety, I spend most of my time with my nose buried inside a book, but I wasn’t always allowed to read books as I liked.
There were certain shelves within the library that were forbidden to me, so I obviously had to read them. This led to the discovery of the wonderful world of book boyfriends.
I swear I spent a whole year crushing on Edward Cullen – I am ashamed of this – waiting for his silver Volvo. I burned through Sydney Sheldon and eventually all I could do was sigh over the vampires from The Vampire Diaries and The Nightworld Series.
For me books were an absolute escape, a chance to rewrite myself in different ways and get to live out multiple lives and go on fantastical adventures. I hoarded words like gold and got to spin a different tale each night.
I waited each day to come back home and crack open a new chapter and disappear for a while. To me this was a chance to meet new people with zero judgement.
Books put so many things into such simple perspectives, you get to live out a thousand thoughts and lives in a matter of few hours. Knowledge of an entire world condensed into few pages.
For me though? All I wanted was a dragon for a pet, the Gryffindor common room and cool guy with Perry Mason brain to hang out with.
3. Just One More Book
Getting the first book kickstarted my need for more. Visiting a bookstore felt like leaving an 8-year-old alone in a candy shop. Nearly everything looked shiny. At some point my dad started avoiding that area and my mother took to sighing every time I mentioned the word book.
It never just stops with one book; you feel the need to collect each and every one of them. I cannot explain you the complex set of thoughts that go through a booknerds head so let me give you some of the highlights, “What if this edition isn’t there later?” , “What if it is sold out?”, “Its just one more book.”
Sometimes its not even the buying part that is exciting, it’s the waiting for the parcel part that I love the most. The thought that my books are on the way fills me up with excitement, while the unread books on my shelf stare at me accusingly.
“Why do you need so many books?” some ask.
There is no one answer for this, everyone has a different reason. For me? They were the crutches I leaned on when I wanted to leave reality for a while. A sense of peace, a detachment from the jumbled puzzle that kept me up at night.
A home comprised of paper.
…
This piece isn’t a to – do list on how to stop buying books, I don’t think any booknerd will ever be able to do that. It’s a list of reasons stating why I can’t stop buying books.
For me its about that library. That room full of waiting adventures.
My brother got me my first shelf when I ran out of space in my library and I plan on getting the next one and building that library, one book at a time.
All my brain says is. “More.”
