Throwback Thursday: What Reading Means to Me

I wrote this when I was 16 as part of a Hastings summer reading contest. In 200 words or less, I had to explain what reading meant to me.

What Reading Means to Me?

I’ve been to Venice, Italy, and to another planet in another galaxy. I’ve been a goddess, a witch, and a frightened child. Books are tickets to another’s world. An author’s words are the paths you must follow. It is on these paths we find unimaginable truths in these imaginary worlds. Truths that reality is too shy to share. Even our basic morals are taught to us through story books in the form of evil witches and handsome princes. Reading is what prepares us to face the subtle, yet brutal realities of our world. Reading is also what allows us to escape from these brutal realties.

I live among a generation where imagination has become “unnecessary”. Technology has caused us to have no need to pretend. Reading keeps imaginations alive which is crucial because imagination is the only material we have to build our dreams. Authors are dreamers and their words are the frozen essences of our thoughts and feelings. It is essential for us to open as many ink and paper imaginations as possible. It is not essential for survival but essential to making survival worth wild. Reading makes dreams come true and imaginations run free. I read. I dream.