Of novels and escapism

I love paperback fiction novels, and I would read whatever I could lay my hands or rather eyes on. Just letting my eyes run across the sentences that are poetically strung up by words. There is something so mystic and wonderful how a couple of words when put togther can take you far away into another world, the imaginery world that is conjured up entirely by the writer. Its just like seeing a huge screen in front of you and watching all these words turning into images and situations which one cannot even possibly even begin to fathom in reality. There were times when I actually prefer to read than to watch a movie and all who knows me will know that I love watching movies.

The first book that I ever laid my hands on was titled, "The Monkey's Tail" or something like that, by Enid Blyton. It had a hard purple cover and as expected, had a picture of a monkey on it. Mum gave it to me when she saw that I was amazed by the monkey on the cover. I plonked myself down in the living room and spent 2 hours devouring every little details of the stories inside the book. After that, there was no return, I was hooked. I can't stop reading.

For a while Enid Blyton and Roald Dahl were my constant companions. I just could not get enough of them. In school, the other kids were playing by the field or chatting during lunch while I was always sitting at the stairs or inside en empty classroom reading. As a result, I was kind of ostracised by the kids in school. I was loner, always with a book in my hands and just couldn't seem to fit into any groups. A weird bespectacled little girl who actually prefer reading to playing.

After that, Enid and Roald no longer satisfy my reading desires. They began to get childish or its just that I grew out of them. I moved from children books to Sidney Sheldon, Stephen King, David Eddings, Judie McNaught, Anne Rice, just to name a few. From fantasy to romance to adult themes to horrors, everything and anything I could get my hands on. I basically devoured them all. I read so much that my folks were afraid of me turning a nutcase cos I basically would shut myself out from reality when I read. In fact, I would ignore everything and concentrate so much on my books that I could finish a normal paperback in less than 2 hours.

Over the years, reading became my way of coping with reality. The truth is whenever I met any difficulties that I can't solve or met with any emotional problems that I can't cope, I would read. It has became my way of hiding and forgetting about the unfortunate issues that I met in real life. Its my way of seeking solace when things spiralled out of control. However, there were times when books no longer provide me a portal to the fictional world. These were times when things were getting so out of control that words no longer provide the much needed solace that I wanted. I effectively gave up on reading for the past 1 year or so. Somehow, fiction failed me.

Now, I resolved to go back to my favourite hobby. I want to take back control of my life again, no matter how boring it is. The fictional world is so much easier to control than the reality. Entering the dark world of physchological thrillers involving sick and twisted serial killers and forsensic science or journeying through imaginery flawless kingdoms occupied by mythical creatures are so much better than dealing with the hypocrisy that is so prevalent in the reality.

I am back to reading.. :)