A hula-hooping English Literature student who spends her time dwelling on her lavender-scented thoughts and then transfers them onto paper
The magic of reading has been carved within the sculpture of the human mind since early times. Reading is not the act of having your eyes linearly race over a set of words to merely reach the finish line. It is rather a love story between the alphabet and the mind. Through reading, we give ourselves the power to let go of our physical entities and dive into spiritual realms where our souls are carried by words and our minds are taken on journeys and adventures that surpass the tangible surface of existence. In a world where technology has taken over the spectacle of enjoying the simple things in life, reading should not be through something that requires electricity to function.
Close your eyes and imagine yourself walking into an old bookshop. You think you are alone in there, but soon you will realize that you are mistaken. Now take a deep breath. Do you smell something? That is the perfume of paper and ink. That is scent of magic. Let your senses linger on the taste of this perfume; let your soul dissipate into this air. Scatter your essence within this timeless oxygen that is gliding from one wall to another. Now listen, listen slowly. Can you hear something? That is the sound of time. You are not alone in this bookshop, you see. What surrounds you is the proof of time, breathed into ancient letters and words, calling for your hands to pick her up and make love to her through your eyes. You are not alone, as you are most probably noticing by now. There is Edgar Allan Poe on your right, Amy Lawrence and William Wordsworth on our left, Shakespeare is right behind you and so many other magnificent beings of literary light around you. They are calling you through their words that are trapped inside hard covers longing for hands to take them away and for eyes and minds to set them free. These velvet whispers that are stroking your ears are not figments of your imagination; they are the voices of the mad ones crying for you, for me, for all of humanity. Now go on, make yourself a cup of tea and choose a book to mentally embrace. Would you rather do that, or search for one on your iPad?
Many people would argue that reading is reading, no matter what way it is done through, and that digital reading is easier and more enjoyable because of the availability of zooming in and simply scrolling down instead of turning pages. But when did reading become something that should be easy and comfortable? Reading from books is a beautiful way to escape our comfort zones, it is worth the minimal efforts we make to carry it everywhere and get paper-cuts from folding its pages. It is okay to be monsters while reading from classical books. Let’s not forget that the latter give us the chance to sense a pile of pages with our fingers, allowing us to feel the progress we are making through every tactile fold. After all, books do not hurt our eyes if we spend too much time looking at them. Instead, they caress our vision and embrace our minds in ways no iPad, iPod, or iWhatever does.
Books are passports that carry us to other realms, and reading them on actual paper gives you a sensory experience that cannot be felt when reading on an electronic screen. Forget that you have a notification on Facebook and two on Instagram, forget that you have to video chat with your cousin on Viber. Disconnect your soul from all these absurd burdens. Take your cup of tea, sit on your bed, and let a classical book hold your hand and transport you to another planet.