I try to write more, but I just keep ending up with more drafts. I have 10 times more drafts than published stories, I know this because I often count them. If you’re reading this, then I finally managed to hit publish and I’m happy about that.
Growing up, I hated books. I never saw the wisdom in picking up a book to read when you could just download the movie from a pirated website and save yourself the stress. You’d finish the movie faster, you’d see the action rather than imagining it and you’d be done and ready to move on to the next. I could barely even stand the sight of them. It was always giving “nerd” and I needed to be on the cooler side of things.
I’m not sure at what point exactly I started loving to read, but I remember getting in a bus from Ojuelegba to Ikeja in 2019 and as soon as I sat down, I brought out my iPhone 6 to continue a book from the Percy Jackson series by Rick Riodan. I had started reading it earlier that morning.
I remember this vividly because whenever something interesting happened in the book, I’d send a message to my friend, telling him all about things he already knew just so I could get someone who could relate to what I was feeling — he never failed to deliver. It feels great to enjoy something your friend enjoys, this is normal.
This friend inducted me into the world of reading. Every time I picked up a new book, I felt much like Paul must have in the Bible after turning to God upon spending the earlier parts of his life condemning those who followed him. I imagine he felt like he was finally enlightened, rather than hypocritical.
I’m a changed man now. I now love to read. At least enough for me to list it as my hobby whenever I’m asked. “Reading, chess and swimming”, I’d say, even though I never really do any of them so often. Although I think hobbies are just things we think we like doing, cos if hobbies were the things we do most often, mine will be overthinking — that’s a story for another day.
In the 4 years that I’ve been reading, I’ve read a little over 50 books. If you’re someone who really loves reading, you can testify that this isn’t a lot of books but I’m proud of it regardless. I get to open a page and get lost in a land far far away or so long ago. The writer guides me to picture the story in a way no movie adaptation or anyone else can. They allow me feel it and almost live through it, rather than just giving me their own version. Although she’s the painter, she hands me the brush and offers to be my muse.
When I read, I do so with intent. I try not to just skim through the pages in a bid to finish the book as fast as possible. Why do that when the writer took so long to give it to me. I try to feel what the characters feel. Sometimes it drives me mad, like Korede in “My sister, the Serial Killer”, some times it’s the anger that Okonkwo felt in “Things fall apart” and other times it’s the heart wrenching love that Siya felt in “Love in Colour” but what ever feeling it is, I feel it deeply. That’s what the writer wants.
Everytime I read, there’s a new word I haven’t heard before in every other page and it does well to remind me of how much I still have to learn. I highlight these words and look them up. They usually always mean quite simple things and I sometimes wonder if the writer is just trying to seem cooler with big grammar, or if they even count the words as big grammar. This thought always fascinates me.
Im grateful for books and their writers, and the escape they give so freely. A good book never loses value, just like fine wine or classical music. No matter how many times you read it, it just gets better. You can pick up a book with it’s torn edges and it’s rough back but it is still strong enough to hold on to your soul and lead you down paths you yearn to experience.
I’m grateful for those brittle pages from books passed down from your elder sister who got it from her classmate who got it from her own cousin’s family friend (remember those Ted Dekker and Harry Potter books from high school). I love how they feel when I turn each page and how I feel whenever I’m reading the tear-inducing acknowledgements from the Authors. I love how those pages look when I finally stack them up on my little bookshelf of just 5 books — because of course, I can’t afford so many books just yet. Sapa nice one.
I’m grateful for the homely smells I get from books when I open them. It’s reflex at this point — to dive right to the middle once I get a book and take a big sniff like I just got a new nose. Those couple of seconds are one of the tiny things I’m grateful for in life. They help me look forward to another day, even if it’s just to smell a new book.
Books allow you to gain knowledge without doing much research, travel the world without worrying about visas and exchange rates, go back in time to a period you didn’t know existed and explore a Kingdom that never really existed — Dora self no explore reach me.
As I open yet another book, I’m excited to experience everything from everywhere all in one place and I love how a simple hobby has turned to a lifestyle. Books truly are worlds between pages.
~ Mileke.
