Yesterday I started reading a book. Threeish hours later, I finished the book - and it was amazing. It was one of those books that opens you up to the world, gives you a fresh persepective on life and puts into words things that you knew but could never quite describe on your own.
I felt like dancing around singing "I love books. I LOVE books." And I really do. They are so powerful, both in fiction and non-fiction form.
Anyway, today I was thinking of how much influence books have had on my life, ever since I was really young. Before I went into kindergarten, I knew how to read. I also loved to write and use my imagination. I'm sure a big part of the development of my imagination came from reading books. Yes, my imagination has gone running off on its own sometimes, but sometimes it's helped me.
A few months ago I was going through some old school stuff and found a bunch of random notebooks from grade 6. Grade 6 was the year where at first I had no friends, and then slowly I became best friends with this one girl, and then others. Anyway, this one girl and I spent our lunch hours... playing pretend. We made up an entire kingdom, and we were the Princesses Emerald and Topaz, based off our birthstones. We had an entire world, I tell you. The notebooks I found had notes outlining this world.
Another game of pretend that we played was during the winter. Snowplows would come during the winter and clear off the snow from the school grounds, and then huge piles of snow would be piled up on the school field. My friend and I used the huge piles of snow and made a fort for ourselves.
That was another thing I found in the notebooks. Apparently, some guys were bugging us and destroying our fort or something. In my notebook were nicknames for these guys and plans for "missions" that would thwart their bullying.
Yeah... I was a strange kid.
Anyway, as I was looking over this notebook, it made me wonder. At the time, it was all just fun and that was how I spent my free time at school. I never considered myself a victim of bullying, and I wasn't bothered by it. Yet as I was looking through these notebooks, I thought that maybe that was how I dealt with these bullies, though subconsciously. I made up things, and used my imagination to deal with them. It's a very curious thing, and it kind of makes me want to go back and psychoanalyze my 12-year-old self.
Even after middle school, my imagination and my writing and reading helped me. In grade 10, I wrote a lot of poems (well, a lot of poems for me) that helped me express things. And I still haven't stopped using imagination, writing and reading to help me. I am beyond grateful for all of these things.
So, I want to know. How has writing and/or reading and/or your imagination helped you throughout your life??
Oh, and I'm 18 now (as of May 3). That is why my thoughts have all of a sudden turned wistful and philosophical. (Haha). :D Have a great day, everyone!