“Her books were her.”
I look around my room, and I see myself. But it’s not in the paint color on the walls, or the sparse pictures on the walls, or the music on my iPod in which I see myself. I see myself on my shelves, in stacks on the floor, randomly lying around wherever I was last sitting.
In short, I see myself in my books.
That is not to say that there aren’t other great things about me. I’m a hard worker, I always try to help other people out, and I can cook a pretty mean baked potato soup.
But when I look inside myself, there is nothing that can define me more; who I am, what my dreams are, how I think of the world; than my books.
Some people can connect to song lyrics or black charcoal, they can look at the world through equation covered lenses or sense meaning in new dance steps. Whatever it is that people connect to the most, the best way to understand someone is to understand what speaks to them the most, how that thing looks through their eyes, and what it really means to them. Because once you can understand that, you can figure out the key understanding them as a whole.
I love books. Book are me. I am my books, and I bleed the words that I write.
If I were to tell you this, would you understand?
To me, books are magic. They are the closest thing humans can get to immortality. Words are at the very foundation of how we can communicate our complex emotions and ideas. Without words, where would we be? Books have very important things to say, because when someone writes down a story from their own imagination, you can find every bit of their inner-selves scattered in black ink.
You can look at my shelves and tell what kind of things I like based on what I choose to read. You can get a sense of what is most important to me based on how I have my books organized. You can tell that I fear being forgotten one day by what I put down in my books. You can look and see that I want to know things but at my core I feel things, not think them. You can tell that I care about what others thought and think and that I don’t want them to be forgotten either based on the fact that I want to collect books just for the sake of keeping them safe; even if I never get to read them.
I prefer to understand the world through words, and the patterns they create. And the best keeper of these letters and thoughts? Books.
So yes, this sentence is very true for me.
My books are me.
What are you?