I read to escape reality. It’s not as if I am avoiding what is truly real, but rather I am taking a break. Reading is the ultimate source of imagination, a way to continue childhood all the way through adulthood without being known as “the immature one”. Books provide a new world, a second dimension, where you can be whomever you choose and you can do whatever you please, they very definition of imagination.
When reading, I continually catch myself pretending to be the main character; I try to be the courageous, outgoing, witty, and resilient one; the one who even when faced with a tremendous problem still manages to swallow their fear and go to battle. I want to be these people in books, to have their abilities, to have their relationships, because even though perfect does not exist, they seem to come pretty darn close. These characters always seem so real, and their qualities so achievable, yet I can never seem to be as seamless as them in reality. Through reading, I can finally be that person. I can finally be the one who stands up for what is moral and fights when there is nothing else left to do but go to war. I can be whoever I want to be and no one will judge me for it, actually, scratch that, people might judge me for it but I won’t care that they do because I’ll know that eventually there will be no judging, only admiration.
I read because it lets me be a little kid again.
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